


Always Be My Baby

by juliusschmidt



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aging, Future Fic, Injury, Kid Fic, M/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, you don’t just grow up once. [Edited 7/13/13]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Be My Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Minor content warnings: infidelity, divorce, death of a family member, grief
> 
> Holla to my beta, dedkake.
> 
> **ETA (7/13/2013): We made the rookie mistake of using google docs to do our work. K and Microsoft Word each gave this a read through to help me clean it up and it’s looking _much_ better on the typo front. However, I know myself and therefore cannot promise perfection, by any means. /ETA**
> 
> Holy shit, they actually won. My original (typically pessimistic) author’s note read thus: “In an alternate universe (canon divergence), where the Blackhawks beat the Bruins and hoisted the Stanley Cup in 2013. Be consoled, it's a kind of sucky universe.” Oh. My. God. 
> 
> I feel sort of off about posting this after looking through all the happy party pics because things go sour real fast. And it takes approx 25K words for everything to be all champagne and kisses again. But I've been sitting on it for weeks. And my patience has run out. So up it goes! 
> 
> To clarify, Kaner’s OFC is just that, made-up, and not based on his actual girlfriend. 
> 
> Things I know very little about (but did research... on the internet): parenting elementary school aged children, shoulder injuries, what it is like to play professional hockey-- so if you do know lots about any of these things, you may have to handwave some shit. 
> 
> This began, ostensibly, as a response to the prompt 'kid fic,' on my longfic_bingo card.
> 
> Fic shares its title with a Mariah Carey masterpiece, which you should listen to on repeat while you read, obviously.

**Saturday, June 29, 2013 3AM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

They’ve won the fucking Cup. Photographic evidence is right there. A picture of him and Jonny, arms around it, hugging it between them, sits on the table next to Jonny’s bed right beside another, older, Cup picture from the 2010 parade. And Jonny’s eyes are trained on the two of them with the Cup as Pat slides into him and Pat’s life is the fucking shit.

Jonny is tight, so _fucking_  tight, around his dick. They haven’t done this,  _fucked_ , since before the playoffs. It’s risky, not worth the stress it puts on their bodies, especially with Jonny’s shoulder acting up after the Wings series.

But now. Now, they can spend all night fucking. They can do it, over and over. They can cover Jonny’s whole condo in lube and sweat and jizz.

So Pat takes his time. He loves shoving in slow and deliberate, keeping his strokes careful and measured. Hitting Jonny’s prostate. Every. Single. Time.

He loves the way Jonny’s language turns foul, the way he lets loose a steady stream of filth, finally urging Pat to “Hurry the fuck up.” He loves Jonny’s nails digging into his back, as Jonny bucks hard, trying to take control from underneath.

But Pat’s not having it. He’s waited so fucking long, thought about this moment so fucking much that he takes hold of Jonny’s hips, pinning him to the bed.

“We’re doing this my way, Jonny, nice and slow.”

Jonny’s eyes fly open and meet Pat’s. Pat’s dick hits his prostate and he moans. This is his favorite position, Pat knows. Jonny loves to be flat on his back with Pat leaning over him, covering him, filling him up, Jonny’s dick caught straining between them.

Jonny’s starting to lose it. He’s not talking anymore, just clutching at Pat’s shoulders and gasping in quick, shallow pants. His eyes are so dark, almost black.

Pat knows that Jonny’s always fucking quiet when he’s getting close, so Pat balances his weight on one arm and, with the other, grabs Jonny’s dick and pulls and pulls. Jonny’s hips start to stutter and his mouth is open so fucking wide- his stupid ugly O face that Pat thinks he could watch forever- and he shoots come all over his chest. So, so much come. Fuck. It’s all over Pat, too, but he keeps his fist around Jonny’s dick, still pulling and pulling and pulling.

Jonny closes his eyes and breaths out, “Pat, oh my god. Pat. I fucking love you, Pat, so fucking much.”

Pat’s heart clenches. They’re dumb, meaningless sex words, but he’s so grateful to Jonny for saying them. Because right now _love_  seems like exactly the right word to describe his feelings about Jonny, about them together on and off the ice, about  _this_. Jonny is his best friend and they have the best sex and it’s perfect. It’s love.

“Can we?” He asks, and Jonny is already scooting up. Pat slips out of him. Jonny arranges himself on all fours, his huge, fucking awesome ass offered up to Patrick like it’s Christmas or something.

“You sure this is okay for your shoulder?” Pat asks. He holds his dick still, its head pressed bluntly against Jonny’s hole, leaking with lube and pre-come.

“Not if you don’t hurry the fuck up, oh my god.” He thrusts backward and Pat’s in him again. The pressure is intense from this angle and Pat takes a second to adjust to it.

“Come  _on_ ,” Jonny whines.

And Pat moves. Fuck. He loves the sound of his balls slapping Jonny’s ass. Jonny’s loose and relaxed, taking his hard thrusts easily and muttering soft shit that Pat can’t understand. He finishes himself fast and filthy- six, no, seven hard cants of his hips and he’s coming inside Jonny. Jonny must feel it because he clenches around Pat, holding him tight as the hot waves of sensation subside.   

Pat pulls out, so tired, and flops onto his back. It’s been such a long-ass couple of weeks, couple of months, really, and he can’t be bothered to keep his eyes open another goddamn second. “Sorry, Jonny,” he begins and drifts off.

When he wakes, probably only minutes later as Jonny’s come is still wet on his belly, Jonny is leaning over him, running his fingers through Pat’s sweaty curls. They’re probably gross, but Jonny’s touch feels so fucking good. Pat is so happy. Everything in his whole life is happy. He wants Jonny to be part of it, to know  _every_  part of his utter joy, so he says, “I’m going to propose. I’m buying the ring tomorrow.”

Jonny blinks at him, and then smiles, slow and deep. “Kaner, you’re doing this all wrong. I think it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Pat smiles, too. “Yeah. I mean, I’m sure she has an idea of what’s coming, but-”

Jonny’s out of the bed and kicking at the wall, hard, before Pat finishes the sentence. Pat watches as Jonny grabs the framed photo of them in the 2010 Cup parade, taken at a time when this was so new and fresh and perfect, off his bedside table. He looks at it for a second and then smashes it against the wall, broken glass falling to the floor around him.

What the hell.

“Get out,” Jonny says.

“What the hell, Jonny?”

“Get the fuck out of my condo, Kaner.” Jonny points toward the door of his room.

“Jonny. Why are you mad? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Clean up, get your clothes on, and get the fuck out,” Jonny says, again, sharp tone making it clear that he’s not about to explain himself. And Pat’s happiness, the win, the sex, the proposal, it’s all tumbling downward, shattering like the glass on Jonny’s picture frame, and he has no fucking idea why.

~~~

**Pre-Game Match-up: Thursday, June 8, 2023 8AM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

The plane’s just touched down in Buffalo when Kaner’s text buzzes in.

_C u aftr practce?_

Jonny decides not to text him back because he’s being an idiot. He’s clearly not thought this plan through. Like fucking usual.

It’s the playoffs. No, scratch that, it’s the fucking Stanley Cup Finals. And Jonny’s still got the ‘C’ and Kaner’s sporting one of his own these days, so no. No, they can’t hang out after practice.

“Kaner is still such an asshole,” he tells Duncs, conversationally.

Without looking up from his iPad, Duncs replies, “There’s an easy way to shut his shit down. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“I’m not going to shove his head down the toilet, Duncs.” Jonny types out a response to Kaner: _N fraternizing u shthead_. He deletes it. Kaner’s suggestion really doesn’t deserve a reply.

“No, Jonny, stop texting him back. Works like a charm,” Duncs says, slowly and with exaggerated eyebrow movements, like Jonny’s a child.

Jonny glares at him, and looks down to see what he’s got open on his iPad. It’s a video of the Sabres, in their series against the Flyers.  And Jonny starts to watch, too. Even their big guys are skating fast. And Jonny forgets, for a moment, kind of, about Kaner.

~~~

The trainer makes him stay late. She doesn’t like what’s going on with his shoulder. Nobody does. But Jonny’s not going to not play, so what-the-fuck-ever.

By the time he finishes showering and pulling on his sweats, he’s the last one in the locker room. The rest of the guys must be waiting for him on the shuttle. He barrels through the door, feeling intensely guilty about making them wait.

“Uncle Jonny!” A small body crashes into him as soon as he’s fully out into the hallway, pale arms wrapping around his waist and a blond head burrowing in against his stomach.

“Hey, Avery,” He says, squeezing her close and rubbing a hand against her back.

She looks up at him, with a frown. Wow. She’s wearing a lot of make-up. “Uncle Jonny, you call me ‘Angel,’” she informs him.  

“Yeah,” he agrees, laughing. “You’re definitely my angel, Angel.”

Jonny looks up and Kaner’s there, watching them. He’s wearing a grey Sabres t-shirt and his hair is damp and beginning to curl. He’s wearing it shorter these days. He stopped with the mullet ages ago, thank god, maybe during the divorce or maybe when his receding hairline started to get ugly. That was around the same time, Jonny thinks.

Kaner’s smile sharpens when he catches Jonny’s gaze. “Sorry, man. I know it’s the playoffs, or whatever, but Avery really wanted to see you.”

Avery tugs on Jonny’s sleeve. “Pick me up, Uncle Jonny. Pick me up!”

Jonny hesitates. He looks at Kaner. He’s supposed to be playing his injury close to his chest. But he really, really shouldn’t pick her up.

“You’re way too big for that, Avery. We’ve talked about this.” Kaner squats and looks her in the eye as he speaks, his eyes serious and his mouth tight. Jonny thinks they have probably talked about this  _a lot_.

“Uncle Jonny is stronger than you. Like Dimsy and Dimsy gave me a piggyback ride.”

Dimitri Rimanov is also 23 and built like a linebacker. Checks like one, too, Jonny remembers, wincing.

“Kaner. Angel. It’s really good to see you guys, but I’ve got to--”

Avery cuts in, “Ask him, Dad.”

“You have to do it, baby girl.” Kaner smiles, standing again, and pats at the tight bun on the top of her head.

Avery sighs dramatically and swats Kaner’s hand away, only to clutch at it a second later. “No, you,” she insists.

Jonny sees Smith pop his head in the entrance at the end of the hall. He shouts, “Are you coming, Jonny? The shuttle’s waiting for you.”

Avery whirls around and calls back, “Uncle Jonny is busy!”

“I’ve got a bus to catch, Angel. They guys are all waiting,” he tells her.

“You have to watch me skate.  _I’m lucky_ ,” she replies, blue eyes wide and pleading. Her lip pops out, totally fake. 

“Watch you skate?” Jonny really takes her in, make-up, up-do, sparkly blue leotard and  _oh._

“She performs sometimes, for some of us, before a big game, when we have time.” Pat’s scratching the back of neck as he says it. Like maybe he’s more embarrassed than proud.

Jonny laughs. “Your daughter performs, as your team’s good luck charm? Oh my god. How have your PR people not picked up on this?”

“Trust me, they have. And it’s been difficult to keep them away, the vultures. She’s only seven.”

“Da-ad,” Avery says, tugging on his arm, pulling him back toward his locker room.

“What, baby girl?”

“I’m almost eight. My birthday is in... how many days?”

“Jonny?” Smith calls again.

“Sorry, just go without me. I’ll figure a way back to the hotel, on my own,” Jonny shouts in reply. He wants to see Avery out on the ice. It’s been a few months, and she’s won at least one competition in the meantime.

Jonny stops walking with them when they reach the Sabres' dressing room. “I can’t go through here, Kaner. Meet you in the stands?”

Kaner shakes his head, “Yeah, no. I wasn’t thinking. This way.” He gestures toward a different door.

“Who did your hair, Angel?” Jonny asks.

“Gammy. Dad’s way better. He never pulls. But he was  _working_  this morning.” The two of them, Kaner and Avery, are holding hands as they make their way down the hall and to the benches.

“I’m never going to forgive you for buying her that first pair of figure skates, Jonny. Never.”

Jonny knows it’s not true. Kaner is so proud of Avery, so fucking proud. As he watches Avery lace her own skates, no help needed, Jonny realizes he’s pretty proud of her, too.

~~~

Pat drives him back the hotel afterward. Apparently, Avery’s finally gained enough weight to graduate out of her car seat and as soon as she’s buckled in behind Jonny, he feels her start to kick at his back.

Kaner must notice because as he pulls out of the parking lot, he says, “Stop that, Avery.” Avery’s feet still immediately.

The speakers are blaring Eminem, and not a radio edited version. Even though he kind of hates it, the music sends this rippling pulse of familiarity and rightness through Jonny. Eminem always reminds him of Kaner. He remembers hearing the base blare- way too loud- out of Kaner’s headphones as they lay on opposite beds watching highlights after a road game. He remembers Kaner chasing him around the ice shouting cuss words at him in some sort of rhyming rhythmic pattern, apparently the content of every one of Kaner’s favorite songs. He remembers Kaner DMing him a link to something just like this right after they’d played their first game against each other in the NHL.

Avery sings along with the hook.

When they’re sitting at a stoplight she says, “I don’t want to go to Gammy’s again. I want to play with you and Uncle Jonny.”

“Baby girl,” Kaner says.

Avery starts to kick the back of Jonny’s seat again. “Mac and Timmy always want to play cats. I  _hate_  cats.”

“Your dad and I have a game. I thought you liked playing with your cousins.” Jonny twists in his seat to look at her. The movement sends a stinging pain across his shoulder.

“Uncle Jonny. You don’t know how stupid they can be because you’re always in  _Chicago_.” She makes a sour face at him. Then she looks at Kaner, “I can sit on the bench with you, Dad. I promise I’ll be good. Just like before, when I came to practice.”

“Avery,” Kaner says. And Jonny thinks he’s pretty rotten at laying down the law because that does not seem like a clear answer.

“Jonny will let me sit with him,” she says. Then her eyes go wide and she delivers a particularly violent blow to the leather at Jonny’s back. “Wait. Uncle Sharpy won’t be there, will he?”

Jonny laughs and Kaner spares him a quick glare, before adjusting the rearview mirror so he can meet Avery’s eyes. “No, Avery. Uncle Sharpy doesn’t play hockey anymore. But he’s a good guy, baby girl. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Avery shudders.  

When they pull up outside Jonny’s hotel, Jonny extricates himself from the car and then opens up the back door to drop a kiss onto Avery’s forehead. “You’d better cheer a little bit for me, tomorrow, Angel.”

She’s got Kaner’s phone and is playing some game with pink bunnies and cupcakes. She doesn’t look up from it, but she does say, “Kay.”

Kaner hands Jonny his duffle, which he’s retrieved from the back end. Jonny says, “Thanks, man. It was good to see you and Avery. This summer, we’ll do our thing, kick it for a week or a weekend or whatever. Maybe at my place this time?”

Kaner grins. “Yeah, okay.” As Jonny turns to go, Kaner grabs at his shoulder. Jonny winces.

Kaner says, “Listen, Jonny, on Sunday--”

Turning back, Jonny cuts him off. “Kaner. We’re not teammates right now. I’m not even here as your friend. We’re about to play  _against_  each other. In the final. Like I said, we can hang out afterward, this summer.”

Kaner nods, but doesn’t look convinced.

~~~

**Sunday, February 9, 2014 3PM**

**Sochi, Russia**

 

Pat pounds his fist against Jonny’s door. He knows the fucker is around. And he needs to open this goddamn door and let Pat in already.

Pat pulls at his ring. It’s a little loose and Pat wonders, vaguely, if he’s dehydrated. “I brought you a sandwich,” he shouts at the closed door.

He should be quieter. People,  _other Olympians_ , are probably trying to get their necessary rest, but Jonny told him to come over, so the fucking Canadians he shares a floor with can go fuck themselves. An invite from Jonny is rare these days, and Pat misses the way it used to be between them. He’s not about to pass up this opportunity because Jonny’s got his headphones in or some shit like that.

The door opens. “There sure as hell better not be mustard on that.” Jonny’s wearing a pair of tight athletic shorts and nothing else. His chest is covered in little beads of sweat.

“You only pretend to be picky,” says Pat, coming into the room. He hands Jonny the styrofoam container and throws himself down on Jonny’s bed. “Where’s the roomie?”

Jonny opens the package and lifts the top slice of roll, presumably checking for mustard, which Pat knows he eats, even if Pat did make sure not to get any, this time. Jonny smiles, probably overjoyed at the no mustard situation and, what can Pat say, he knows what Jonny likes.

“It’s Duncs and he’s mostly been staying with his wife and kid, at their hotel.”

Jonny sits down next to Pat and takes a big bite of sandwich. “US lookin’ good?” Jonny asks, mouth full.

Pat sighs. “No. Yes. The douche that Coach had centering my line- shit, I do not want to talk about hockey, Jonny.”

“Fuck this, then,” Jonny says around another bite of food. Everyone’s always going on about how polite he is, but they don’t know shit about what Jonny does or says behind closed doors. He’s a fucking slob, especially if there aren’t any ladies around to impress. “I invited you here to steal your secrets.”

Pat sits up on his elbows. Yeah, sure that’s what Jonny invited him over for, sure it is. He rises and starts to strip out of his track suit. Jonny watches, swallowing his last few bites of sandwich.

“What are you doing, Kaner?” He asks, tossing the empty container at the trashcan. It goes in. Jonny always wins at trashcan basketball. Although, once, Kaner beat him by knocking the can Jonny was aiming out of his hand. Turned out the can was half full of stale beer. Jonny had been really pissed. Without a word he’d ripped off both his and Kaner’s soiled clothes, pinned Kaner face first to the hotel bed and rutted against his ass until they both came.

Reflecting back, Kaner thinks he would do that again, if the opportunity ever arose.

Jonny’s watching him like he thinks Kaner’s going to answer. Which he is so the fuck not, because it should be obvious.

He moves in close next to Jonny and rubs his shoulders, not pressing too hard. Jonny doesn’t relax. No, he tenses up.  _What the fuck._

They haven’t fooled around in months. Kaner’s been really busy, what with getting married, training for the season, moving into a new house, playing hockey and preparing for the Olympics.

He knows things ended kind of badly last time. Shit, he’ll never forget Jonny smashing that picture against the wall. But Jonny hasn’t brought it up. And he’s still buddies with Pat. As in, he stood up for Pat at his wedding, threw him a bachelor party in Vegas with lots of hot-ass strippers, and gave a touchingly cliché best man toast about how he’s never met anybody as loyal, affectionate, and devoted to family as Kaner.

And Pat’s pretty sure Jonny still wants him. He still  _watches_  Pat all the time, and Pat’s not dumb or blind.

And so now Pat’s practically gagging for it. He needs Jonny’s cock up his ass right fucking now. But for some reason, Jonny’s walls are going up. He can feel it.

He presses his lips against Jonny’s, and it’s like Jonny’s strings pop. He leans into the kiss, hard, suddenly rough and desperate. His tongue parts Pat’s lips and dives into Pat’s mouth. It’s not a good kiss, but Jonny’s neediness, the way he’s whining into Pat, has Pat hard as fuck.

Jonny pushes him onto his back and grinds against him. He’s hard, too. Fuck, yeah. Then Jonny’s pulling back, hovering above Pat, and giving him a searching look. He rolls off Pat and sits at the end of the bed.

“I’m not going to let you cheat on Gracie.”

Pat sits up, too, and pulls at his ring. What? “Jonny, this is not cheating on Gracie.”

Jonny looks at him, but doesn’t say anything. Jonny’s eyebrows are all scrunched up like they get when he doesn’t yet know what the ref called, but he does know that he didn’t do shit wrong.

“You’re a dude. And we’ve been doing this forever. Through all sorts of girlfriends. Like, why now?” Pat can’t understand what Jonny’s problem is. If this was cheating, Jonny’s cheated on, like, every girlfriend he’s ever had.

Jonny runs his hands through his hair. “I’m not helping you commit adultery.”

Pat breathes out heavily. This is not what he wants. “Jonny. It’s not like I’m going to knock you up or vice-versa. I don’t get what’s the big deal.”

“You’re married, Kaner. This would be cheating. What’s not to get?” Jonny has his face buried in his hands and Pat wishes he would look up at him. He wants to see Jonny’s feelings.

“Look,” Jonny says, voice muffled and maybe a little ragged. “I’m just not gonna do this anymore. This ‘fucking’ thing, or whatever. And, um, fuck, Pat, Gracie trusts you. I thought things were going well. It’s way too early to mess that up.”

He finally looks up at Pat and Pat can tell that he means every word. He can tell that Jonny’s made up his mind. And, honestly, he’s really fucking stubborn. Pat’s not going to be able to do shit to change it.

“I wish you would have told me this before I got married.” Putting it on him like this was not cool, a total non-beauty move.

Jonny raises an eyebrow at him. Okay, he kicked Pat the fuck out of his apartment when Pat told him about the engagement. But, like, his behavior this last year has been pretty damn confusing. “You didn’t  _say_  anything, Jonny.”

“Well, that’s what I meant. I meant: we’re done fucking.” Jonny’s dark eyes bore into him. Pat’s shaking. Fuck, he really needs a glass of water. He feels like Jonny’s just told him that his dog died. Or, no, worse, he feels like he does in his nightmares, when the team doc looks him in the eye and says he’s sorry but Pat’ll never play hockey again. Pat swallows.  _Fuck._  This shouldn’t suck this much. They were just fucking around and it wasn’t even that often.

“Pat,” Jonny says, bringing Pat abruptly back into the room. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Pat nods. Really though, it’s not. It’s the last thing he wanted to hear, but he keeps nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

Jonny runs a hand through his hair. “Want to play Mario Kart before dinner?”

~~~

**Game One: Saturday, June 10, 2023 9PM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

Jonny gulps down some water and stretches his back. The game’s close, 2-1, Sabres up. Jonny’s line is looking great. Jonny put their goal into the net, actually, and his shoulder has yet to really bother him. Still, he wishes he’d had more time to ice it this afternoon.

The whole team is playing well, keeping up with the Sabres, or rather, slowing them down at just the right moments. Jonny knows, fuck, _everyone_ knows, that the Sabres are  _heavily_  favored to win the series. The Blackhawks have been a ragtag bunch this season, with injuries and dry spells and so many rookies. But somehow they’d managed to cobble together a decent core and make it into the playoffs, seeded 8th in the Western Conference. Two of their last three series have gone to a game seven and they only won the second, their most recent game, on a lucky bounce off an aggressive, opposing forward’s skate.

Still, they’re playing well tonight, and Jonny tells them so before they go out for the third. He tells them he thinks they can win. And it’s the truth.

~~~

But they don’t win. And Kaner throws in the empty netter that closes it, which should piss Jonny off a lot less than it does. After the press leaves and Jonny’s had a chance to shower, he pulls out his phone.

He still has to change, but he thinks his brother might want to schedule a call for later that night. The first thing he sees is a couple of texts from Kaner:  _Nice goal good d_  and then:  _Told u averys lucky._

Jonny replies:  _Fuck u_

By the time he’s got his suit on, another text has buzzed in. He reads it as he walks to the shuttle.  _Averys bday tmrw ur comin pick u up at 4._

He’s not sure what to reply. Well, ‘no,’ obviously. He shouldn’t be hanging out with Kaner under these circumstances. And they’ve got a team dinner at five, tomorrow, anyway. Still, he doesn’t text Kaner back right away.

He sits next to Duncs on the shuttle ride to the hotel. Duncs is still fuming about some call on Pacer, one of their younger defensemen. He rants to Jonny about it for a minute or two before saying, “You are not listening to me, okay. I can take a hint, man.”

Jonny sighs. “It’s fucking Kaner.”

“I know,” Duncs says. “Only assholes do cellies for empty netters.”  

“I think he was celebrating the victory, man. It went in on the buzzer,” Jonny says, uncertain as to why he’s defending Kaner. Jonny almost broke his stick watching Kaner’s shit-eating grin after that goal.  “No, he wants me to go to some birthday thing for Avery tomorrow.”

“How does he have time for that kind of shit?” Duncs asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“You’re the one with kids,” Jonny retorts, with a surprising amount of vehemence.

Duncs purses his lips. “Well, then, Jonny, from my fatherly perspective, your kid is only gonna turn eight once.”

Jonny shakes his head. “She’s not ‘my kid,’ Keith.”

“Sure, she isn’t.” Duncs is looking at him with a weird intensity.

“I’m not around enough to even be a good godfather to her,” Jonny says, rubbing the top of his head. He really regrets that. “I’ve never been to a birthday party for her before.”

“All the more reason,” Duncs says. He’s got a picture open on his phone. He passes it to Jonny. It’s his two boys, decked out in Hawks gear. The older kid’s wearing a sweet smile and his arm is wrapped around his brother’s chest. The little one appears to be trying to squirm away, face streaked with tears. “Freddie doesn’t like it when we lose.”

“Just like you, eh?” Jonny laughs.

Duncs looks at him. “When’s the birthday party?”

Jonny blows out a breath and looks out the window. They’re nearing the hotel. “That’s part of the problem,” he says. “It’ll overlap with the team dinner.”

“Oh,” Duncs says, short and abrupt.

“Yeah,” Jonny says. The shuttle’s stopped and Duncs starts to get up. “I’ll just tell him no. Maybe next year. It’s not like I’ll,” -Jonny looks around the bus- “yeah. Maybe next year.”  

Duncs reaches over and pats Jonny’s forearm, twice. For a moment, he looks like he might say something, but he stays silent as they exit the shuttle.

~~~

Jonny doesn’t text Kaner until after practice the next day. He doesn’t know why, but every time he goes to do it, his stomach knots up.   _Tell ave sry. team dinner @ 5_

Kaner's reply comes immediately:  _Ill pick u up at 7_

Jonny texts back:  _patrick timothy kane jr_

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything else because one of his linemates, Kills, distracts him with a question about the powerplay meeting tomorrow morning.

And after he’s done talking with Kills, he’s called over to do some press. And then he’s riding back on the shuttle with Duncs. And then he’s in his hotel room crashing into his afternoon nap. And then he’s out at the team dinner. And then it’s 6:45 and the guys are making plans for the evening. Jonny finds himself begging off, offering them a list of excuses. He wants to watch some more tape. He’s tired. His shoulder needs icing.

But he doesn’t head up to his room. He goes out to the front of the hotel and steps into Kaner’s car, which is waiting for him, the same Eminem track as the day before blasting from the speakers.

The clock on the dash reads 7:07.

“I texted you like fifteen times. And you never replied. I thought you were gonna bail on Avery, for sure,” Kaner says.

Jonny rolls his eyes. Kaner had texted twice since practice. And, obviously, Kaner knew he would come. Jonny always comes when Kaner calls. Always. He used to hate himself for it, but, now, it’s just.  Well, it’s been going on long enough that Jonny doesn’t expect it change. And that’s fine.

“I don’t have Avery’s present, yet.” Jonny admits. “Fuck, I don’t even have a card.”

Kaner laughs. “I figured you wouldn’t have thought about it, so I told her that you are her present and she was pumped. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jonny lies. He’s notoriously late at sending every gift to anyone, ever. That is, if he even remembers to send a gift at all.

“Yeah?” Kaner would call him out on his bluff. Of course, he fucking would.

“I’m getting her a Toews 2023 Stanley Cup Champs jersey,” Jonny says, pointedly not looking at Kaner.

Kaner laughs. “They’ll be pretty cheap, after you guys lose.”

Jonny turns a bit, to look at him, intending to chirp back, but he’s caught off guard by how tired Kaner appears. The lines are deep on his forehead and he’s got dark smudges underneath his eyes. His body isn’t vibrating with energy, but it’s not quite relaxed either.

Jonny’s tired, too. He’s got a whole host of worries, most of them about what’s going to happen after the season’s over. They’re worries he’s been telling himself not dwell on- not until they get knocked out of the game, but they’re in it, now, to the end. Then,  _then_ , he can think.

But he hasn’t considered whether Kaner’s in the same boat. He’s still playing so well. Not his personal best, but not far from it. However, looking at him, now, Jonny sees that he’s showing the signs of deep weariness, the signs that Jonny has come to recognize as professional hockey’s version of the two week notice.

Jonny lets out a slow breath.

“Hey, man,” Kaner says, glancing at him, before refocusing on the road. “Don’t give up yet. You guys could still pull out a W.”

Jonny’s confused, trying to remember the thread of conversation. He can’t get back to it, so he says, “I hadn’t realized you were so far from First Niagra.”

“We moved down the street from my mom, instead of near the rink,” Kaner says. “It’s more convenient, since she takes care of Avery so often.”

Jonny nods. He knows, ultimately, that Kaner’s move to Buffalo had been the right choice. Avery’s benefited from being so close to her grandma and aunts and cousins. And Kaner’s hockey certainly hasn’t suffered. Fuck, he’s probably going to get another Cup out of it, if Jonny’s honest.

Eminem’s not playing anymore. It’s some shitty, pop-country ballad. The singer sounds nostalgic and Jonny’s mood stays dark.

Finally, they pull up outside Kaner’s house. It’s pretty small, considering how much money Kaner has in the bank, but it’s just him and Avery. That’s all it’ll ever be. At least, that’s what Kaner told him, after the divorce.

Someone’s tied a big bunch of balloons to the railing on the porch. They’re blue and yellow with ‘8’s on them. “Are those for you or her?”  

Kaner flips him the bird. “Those are her favorite colors. And she’s turning eight.” Then he says, “Hey, Jonny, I should’ve said earlier, but it’s just family, my mom, and Erica and Jess and their families. No teammates or friends or anything.”

Jonny smiles at him as make their way through the garage and into the kitchen. He says, “I trust you, Kaner.”

Kaner meets his eyes and rubs at his beard. He’s got this tiny smile on his face and Jonny likes it so much.

“Uncle Jonny!” Avery bounces into the kitchen and starts to, literally, run in circles around them.

“Avery, calm down and let them get inside,” Donna says, following her into the room. “Hey, Jonny. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Gammy, I’m a sheepdog and I’m herding them to the cake.” She starts barking.

“Listen to your grandmother,” Pat says. Avery pouts at him. And then barks twice more, before bouncing out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

Jonny kicks off his shoes. The counters are piled with dinner leftovers, not yet put away, chicken and potatoes and bean salad.

“Make yourself a plate, Jonny,” Donna invites.  

Jonny’s already had dinner, but he loves Donna’s baked chicken so he piles some food onto a paper plate with a giant blue eight in the middle of it.

The dining room table is mostly cleared off and the kids are playing (cats and dogs?) in the corner. Erica and Jess are cooing over pictures of their friend’s new baby on one of their iPhones, while their husbands argue over the relative merits of their respective riding lawn mowers.

Erica greets him with a smile and wink, “Jonny! Avery won’t stop talking about how much you loved her routine yesterday. She was telling us how you said she was the most beautiful girl ever to put on skates.”

Jess doesn’t look up from the phone, when she flips her hair over one shoulder and says, “That girl does not need encouragement, Jonny. Pat and Mom spoil her. I think it’s not going to do her any good in the long run. She’s already bossy as hell.”

Donna comes into the room with a lighter and ice cream. “She’s not bossy, Jess. She’s passionate and directive. She’s going to be a leader.”

“Aunt Jessica.” Avery appears next her aunt, hands on hips. “You said a swear. You owe me one dollar.”  

“Honey, that’s a game you and your daddy play, not me,” Jess says to Avery. She turns to Kaner, eyebrows raised. “This is what I’m talking about, Patty.”

“Gammy! Is that cookie dough? Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Avery jumps up and down next to Donna. Her cousins line up beside her, also jumping, and Jonny notices that, for all the worrying Kaner’s done about her size, all three are smaller than Avery. He thinks the boy (Timmy?) is about Avery’s age, maybe only a few months younger.

“Only people who are older than nine can have cookie dough ice cream,” Jonny says. “Sorry, Angel. You’ll have to settle with cake.”

Avery’s jaw drops. “No.”

Jonny raises his eyebrows and nods at her. “Yes, that’s just how it is.”  

The little boy cousin is clenching his fists and glaring at Jonny. Avery’s eyes narrow, like she knows Jonny might be tricking her.

“Sorry, kids,” Jonny says and reaches for the ice cream.

“You’re mean,” the boy says and runs over to punch Jonny in the arm.

Kaner says, “You really want to talk about how we’re raising our kids, Jess?” at the same time as Erica says, “Jonny, please don’t tease them like that.”

“Uncle Jonny, lying is bad. You need to always tell the truth,” Avery informs him.

After the candles are blown out, Donna forces all of them (even though Jonny and Erica both protest) to eat at least a small piece of cake. They watch Avery tear wrapping paper off a pile of presents. Green and pink light-up shoes. Three dolls. A stack of books. A blue, sparkly backpack/purse contraption. She’s most excited about a plush dog that magically gives birth to puppies.

At one point, Kaner sticks a bow on Jonny’s head and shoves him at Avery, who hugs him, giggling, “You’re my favorite present, Uncle Jonny.”

Mostly, Jonny just lets himself bask in the family-ness. David and his wife have a little boy, Trevor, but they don’t see each other more than two or three times a year and it’s so quiet compared to this. Usually, Jonny’s fine with that. In a lot of ways, his team is his family. But whenever he spends time with the Kanes he  _aches_  for something close like this.

Jess and her family leave pretty soon after the presents. It’s already past her kids’ bedtime, she informs them, looking pointedly at Jonny, like this is his fault somehow.

Jonny helps Erica do the dishes with Donna fluttering around them, boxing up leftovers, while the other guys help Avery free her new toys from their packaging.

Donna bustles Erica’s family out the door with a load of leftovers. And then, with kisses for Jonny and Kaner and Avery, she says her own goodnight. Jonny checks the clock on the microwave. It’s a little past nine.

“Okay, baby girl,” Kaner says. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I’m already in my pajamas,” Avery replies. She is. She is also eating a cookie.

Kaner holds out his hand. “Did I tell you that you could have that?” She puts the half-eaten cookie in his palm. “Now, go brush your teeth.”

“I already did.” She sticks out her lip.

“But now that you’ve had that cookie, you have to do it again,” Jonny says.

Her brows furrow and her lip sticks out even farther. “Avery,” Kaner says.

She stomps a foot. “Timmy was right, Uncle Jonny. You are mean.” She heads toward the staircase. When she reaches the top, she shouts down, “You’re making me really frustrated, Uncle Jonny.”

Jonny looks at Kaner, trying to gage if he has overstepped his bounds. Kaner’s stuffing the rest of Avery’s cookie in his mouth and, at Jonny’s raised eyebrow, he shrugs. “She’ll love you again in like three minutes, trust me,” he says, bits of cookie flying.

That makes something unclench in Jonny. Avery’s a kid and her insults are tame compared to his teammates’ chirps, let alone to what opposing players say on the ice. But he feels better with Kaner’s reassurance.

Kaner walks into the den and Jonny follows, watching as he digs around in the couch cushions, finally coming up with the remote. “Avery knows this is supposed to stay in the dish.”

He flips on the TV and then immediately places the remote back in its special place on the center of his coffee table. “Yes, I thought this would be on.”

It’s Terminator, the first one. Jonny knows because he’s watched it at least half a dozen times, all with Kaner.

Kaner smiles at him. “It’s a marathon. I’m gonna go tuck in Avery and then we should watch for a little before you go back to the hotel.”

Fuck, Jonny’s got to get back to the hotel. And Kaner can’t just leave Avery here. Fuck. Not thinking plans all the way through, again. So fucking typical.

Kaner squeezes his shoulder, his good shoulder. Jonny has to admit that Kaner definitely knows which is which and probably has an accurate measure of just how badly it’s bothering Jonny.

Jonny thinks he’d better ice it again before he goes to bed.

“Don’t worry. We’ll call you a cab. I know a few services that pick up out here pretty quick,” Kaner tells him. And Jonny sighs. He can trust Kaner. He  _does_  trust Kaner.

~~~  

**Tuesday, January 15, 2015 11AM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

Pat can’t focus during morning skate. He’s able to keep up with the others during drills, skating quick, making clean passes, and sinking pucks, but he keeps thinking about how he’d expected his mother to be happy for them.

Last night, he and Gracie had called her, together, to give her the news. They were going to have a baby. They would officially be at twelve weeks tomorrow, according to her doctor.

He’d expected his mom to squeal, like she sometimes does after a big win, or, at least, to congratulate them and tell them how excited she was to be a grandma. Because she’s been all over Jess to pop one out for her, eager for a grandchild even before the poor girl got married.

Instead, she had said, “I didn’t realize you were trying. Are you sure you’re ready? Who’s going to take care of the baby, Pat?”

And Gracie had mouthed at him, “She hates me so much.”

“Mom,” Pat had replied, trying his best not to get angry. “Gracie and I have been trying for couple of months. We’ll figure out all the care stuff. I mean, lots of the guys have kids.”

“Their wives are very involved. Or they hire sitters.” And she’d said ‘sitters’ like a cuss word.

That was when Gracie had walked out of the room.

Pat had found himself passionately defending his and Gracie’s choice. Explaining how he loved kids. How he felt ready to be a dad. How it was _his_ idea, though Gracie wanted it, too, obviously. When he was finished with the conversation, he couldn’t find the energy to call his sisters, sticking himself with the task of making those calls after practice.  

He wishes his dad had picked up last night, instead of his mom. He’s always been supportive of Pat. And he definitely wants grandkids, preferably a Patrick III. Which, maybe! The thought has Pat’s heart skipping a beat.

Just a few months back, they’d talked about how they’d take Pat’s kids skating together, teach them how to hold a stick and pass the puck. Honestly, that conversation had him redoubling his efforts with Gracie on the babymaking front. Yeah, before he tackles his sisters, he’s going to call his dad, get him on board and excited.

Once he’s off the ice and in the locker room, Pat checks his phone. He’s got a ‘good morning’ text from Gracie and a text and a phone call from each of his sisters. He decides he wants to wait another day or so to talk to them about this, especially since his mother’s probably already poisoned them with her bad attitude.

He’s heading for the showers when he hears, around a corner, Jonny say, “...Kaner today.” Pat pauses to listen.

Duncs replies, “Yeah, I don’t know. I wasn’t out there with him as much as you. You could be right, though.”

“So, you can talk to him?” Jonny asks.

“No, it’s all you here, Captain.” Duncs sounds like he might be laughing at Jonny.

Pat doesn’t hear Jonny reply, but he probably mutters something vile because Duncs says, “Calm down, there. I just think whatever this is, it’s probably a buddies thing.”

“That’s the fucking problem, Duncs. We’re not buddies, not lately. He’s bailed on me for Gracie the last three times we were supposed to do stuff.”

That’s not true, Pat wants to protest. But, when he thinks about it, it totally is. Shit, he’s such a bad friend sometimes.

“He’s a married man now, Jonny, with duties to attend to. Unlike some lonely people, I know.”

“I get laid all the time,” Jonny says, a little loudly and Pat thinks that Duncs must be heading down the hall.

Pat turns the corner. Jonny’s in a towel, but he hasn’t showered yet, either. He looks alarmed. “Hey, Kaner,” he says slowly.

And Pat decides to make it easy for him because, actually, he wants to talk to Jonny. Or really, to, like, drink beers and play video games and  _not_ talk to Jonny.

“Wanna hang out after practice?”

Jonny’s shoulders relax. “Yeah, that sounds good. My place?” He’s starting to smile. And Pat begins to feel better, too.

“For sure,” Pat says.

 ~~~

Pat sits down and sets the controller on the couch beside him. The coffee table is littered with take-out containers, empty gatorade bottles and discarded Wii game cases. He wants to clean it up, but he knows Jonny would get pissy with him.

He’s already a little pissy cause Pat just kicked his ass at Brawl. Which is an unfair attitude because they’ve been at this for hours and it’s only the second match Pat’s won.

Pat’s phone buzzes in his pocket again. His sisters haven’t let up all day. It’s a little strange. Usually, they’ll back off after the first round and let him come to them. But having a kid is a big deal. Actually, it might be the biggest deal ever, bigger than the NHL, bigger than the Cup.

“Jonny,” Pat begins. It’s time to just put it the fuck out there.

“Patrick,” Jonny replies, turning to watch him.

“Gracie’s pregnant,” he says. “We’re gonna have a kid.”

And Jonny throws himself at Pat, tackles him and wraps him up tight in his arms. It’s awkward since they’re sort of sprawled out on the couch, and _this reaction_  is what Pat expected to receive from his mom, not from Jonny. Against the side of Pat’s face, Jonny says, “That’s awesome. Oh my god, man. That’s so fucking awesome.”

Jonny pulls back abruptly. “You okay? Cause, you know, I thought you guys were gonna try for this? You want it, right?”

“Yeah, shit, I definitely want him. Or her. Whatever. I want a kid. Yeah,” Pat says. “But, like, I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t the right time.”

Jonny squeezes Pat’s shoulder, he’s grinning so hard. “Gracie’s not getting any younger.”

This is true. Except that Gracie is 22, so that’s not really an issue. And Pat thinks it’s a shitty thing for Jonny to be saying about his wife, so he punches him in the arm.  

Jonny’s laughing at his own bad joke. Of course, he is. And then he says, “But seriously, Pat, you’re going to be an awesome dad. I’m excited to meet the little hellrazer.”

Pat smiles. “Yeah, my son’s definitely going to raise hell. That’s sure as shit.”

“Grandma Donna’s gonna have her hands full, eh?” Jonny asks. “She must be thrilled. Did she scream like after the Cup?”

Pat thinks about his mother and says, “Do you have any beer?”

Jonny shakes his head, as if to clear it, and, then, says, “Fuck beer, we need champagne or some shit. We’re celebrating.”

While Jonny’s in the kitchen, Pat checks his phone. Now he’s got a missed call from his aunt. His dad’s sister. Weird. She and his mom don’t really talk. He chews his lip. He’ll call her back tomorrow.

Jonny comes back with an open bottle of champagne. He takes a sip, eyes on Pat, pink lips folding over the green glass, and then hands it over.

They finish the bottle off, mostly in a silence filled with half smiles and fingers brushing. And Pat wishes things were like they’d been before. He’d really like to make out with Jonny, lots of slow, dragging kisses. He’d like to peel Jonny’s clothes off, piece by piece, and then blow him. Fuck, he’s got such a lovely cock, long and dark and smooth, and Pat misses it.

“I want a kid, too,” Jonny says. “I really do.”

Pat lets his head loll onto Jonny’s shoulder. “You are going to be his godfather.”

Jonny hums, a happy sound. Then, he says, “It’ll be great. I’m so happy for you, Pat. This is really great.”

On the table, Jonny’s phone starts to vibrate. It’s not a number he’s got programmed into his phone, but Pat recognizes the area code. Jonny must, too, because he looks at Pat before answering.

“Hello?” He pauses. Then “Oh hey, Erica.”

Pat groans.

“Yeah, actually, let me--”

Pat shakes his head and then makes exaggerated throat-slashing motions.

“Erica, I don’t think he--” Jonny pauses, again, and then gasps. “Yeah, okay, fuck, okay, here he is.”

Pat reluctantly takes the phone from Jonny, flicking him off as he does so. Erica can be such a manipulative bitch sometimes and he really wishes she hadn’t turned her powers on Jonny. He isn’t yet familiar with her evil ways, so it’s not fair. “Yeah?”

“Pat!” Her voice sounds raw, like she might be in tears, and Pat freezes. “It’s Dad. He had a heart attack. Come home. You’ve got to come home.”

Pat swallows. “What? I mean, is he okay? Is he going to be okay?”

“No. No.” She keeps talking but she’s sobbing so hard that he can’t understand exactly what she’s saying. But she’s definitely trying to tell him that Dad’s dead. Which, okay, no. That can’t be right.

Like, Pat was just planning to call him. Maybe tonight, still. He was going to tell him about the baby. And listen for his gruff, happy, fucking proud-ass reply.

Mom hadn’t said anything, yesterday. If Dad hadn’t been doing well, Pat would’ve known. It’s like, he’s not the healthiest guy, but he’s not  _sick_. He and Pat had been out on the ice together only a couple of weeks ago. 

He’s not. Pat can’t.

His dad cannot be dead. But that’s what Erica is saying, her voice clear and cracking at the same time.  

Jonny’s squeezes his shoulder. Pat reaches up with his free arm to clasp Jonny’s hand and hold it there.

~~~

**Game Two: Monday, June 12, 2023 5:50AM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

When Jonny wakes up, the first thing he notices is his shoulder. It’s throbbing, sending shooting pains up into neck and right to a pulsing, aching point at the base of his skull. The second thing he notices is that his head is in Kaner’s lap, on Kaner’s couch. The third thing he notices is that soft pink light is coming in through the window. It’s not quite dawn. Gameday.

_Fuck._

Kaner’s hand stirs in Jonny’s hair, petting him firmly, the blunt edges of his fingers rubbing into Jonny’s scalp. Jonny lets his eyelids flutter shut again. It feels so fucking good. A hint of nails pulls at his nape and Jonny moans. It’s a soft sound, but Kaner must hear it because he digs in harder and shifts his hips.

_Fuck._

Jonny’s getting hard and fucking Kaner. It’s always fucking Kaner.

Jonny opens his eyes. He’s going to tell Kaner to fuck off. But Kaner’s looking at him with that little smile, his eyes sleepy and blinking, like he couldn’t be happier to realize he’d spent the night before a big game with Jonny, on his  _fucking_  couch.

Jonny moves to sit up and Kaner kisses him.

It’s brief, hesitant, but Jonny follows his mouth, pressing in for more. It’s so familiar, Jonny thinks. He knows this mouth. He knows the shape of these lips, their thickness, their bumps and grooves. He knows when Kaner’s going to open up, let Jonny in. He knows how their tongues will roll and tug and  _fuck_.

Kaner slides his hands up through Jonny’s beard and into his hair, mouth turning aggressive. Jonny finds himself clutching at Kaner’s biceps, for a moment, before his hands find their way under Kaner’s shirt.

A horn goes off. It sounds like a goal horn.

Kaner pulls away. The sound is coming from his phone which is on the floor next to them.

“Six AM, Jonny, time to wake the fuck up.” He’s grinning and stretching his shoulders and back. He looks at the couch and then at Jonny. “That was not a good choice. Let’s at least make it to the bed next time.”

Jonny breathes out hard, rubbing his shoulder. “Kaner. We should probably-”

He hears the patter of feet above them and then a pounding as Avery thunders down the stairs.

“I do not know how she makes so much noise,” Kaner says.

Avery appears in the living room, wearing a purple dress and her new light-up tennis shoes.

“Dad,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “You weren’t in your bed so I couldn’t wake you up.”

“Baby girl,” Kaner says, smiling. “It’s still pretty early.”

“I’ve been awake  _forever_. My new puppies woke me up to play and now I’m hungry,” she tells him.

“Well, let’s get some breakfast,” Jonny says, also hungry.

Avery sees him, then. “Uncle Jonny! Why are you here?”

Kaner yawns and scratches his chin. “He spent the night.” He turns to Jonny. “When does your shuttle leave for First Niagra?”

Jonny rubs his neck. His shoulder is still  _aching._  “Eight, I think.”

Avery grabs Jonny’s hand, pulls him up from the couch, and leads him into the kitchen. “Why did you spend the night? Did you and Dad have a sleepover party? I had one with Tara and Annamarie from my class. We stayed up till one am.” She starts giggling. “That’s so late, it’s early.”

Kaner follows them and pulls out an assortment of cereals from his cupboard. “My mom wakes up at six, and the deal is that I can drop Avery off any time after that. So I’ll go shower and we can leave real quick. Can you help Avery with breakfast?”  

“Da-ad, I can do it myself,” Avery tells him. She’s perched on top of the counter, reaching for a bowl.

“Let Uncle Jonny pour the milk. It’s a new carton and I don’t want a mess on the counters,” Kaner says moving toward the stairs. “Give me fifteen minutes, Jonny.”

Jonny watches Avery dump herself a bowl of Life. The bowl overflows, and, nonplussed, Avery picks up the spilled pieces of cereal and stuffs them into the wastebasket, which is full from the night before. He opens the fridge to grab the milk, but Avery pushes at him. “Let me take it out,” she says.

She’s very careful, lifting the carton with two hands and setting it down on the counter, right next to the bowl of cereal. She looks at Jonny expectantly.

“Maybe we can pour it together,” he suggests.

Her face lights up and she jumps a little. “Okay!”

When Kaner comes down the stairs, Jonny’s tied up the trash and set it by the door. He’s got a piece of toast in one hand and a pear in the other. Avery’s finishing her cereal at the breakfast bar. Well, mostly she’s chasing the last two pieces of cereal around the leftover milk with her spoon, saying, “You can’t escape. You’ll never escape. Ahhhahahaha.”

Kaner walks up to Jonny and presses a quick kiss to his lips. While Jonny is trying to figure out what the fuck even, Kaner takes his toast.

Jonny flicks him off.

“That’s one dollar for me,” Avery says, holding out her hand. “That’s a swear.”

Jonny looks at Kaner. “Uncle Jonny will pay up later, baby girl. Let’s get going.”

She hops down from the stool and runs toward the stairs. Kaner puts on his shoes and shoves a phone charger from the kitchen counter into his gear bag. He watches as Jonny ties his own shoes.

Avery runs back into the room, wearing her backpack and carrying her new puppies. Kaner folds his arms across his chest. “What did you forget to do, Avery?”

Avery says, “I brushed my teeth.” It sounds like a lie to Jonny, but Kaner doesn’t call her out. Instead, he looks at the counter. When she follows his gaze to see her bowl still sitting there, she rolls her eyes. “Oh my gosh, Dad.”

But, after handing him her puppies, she picks it up, rinses it in the sink and sticks it in the dishwasher.

“Good job, baby girl. You’re very responsible,” Kaner says.  

On the short drive from Kaner’s to his mom’s, she says, “I want Jonny to win tonight. That’s fair.”

“Life’s not always fair, Angel,” Jonny tells her, internally assessing their chances of winning to be slimmer than ever. Avery ignores his comment saying, “Dad, can I wear his jersey to the game?”

“You’ll have to ask Gammy,” he says. Jonny thinks he sounds unhappy.

~~~

Jonny finds himself on the bench next to Duncs at practice. “Man, you look exhausted. If I’d have known it was that kind of birthday party, I wouldn’t have encouraged you.”

Jonny drops his head. “I was really fucking stupid and slept on Kaner’s couch last night.” He’s surprised at himself for admitting it to Duncs, especially when he’s spent the whole morning beating himself about it. Cause Duncs isn’t going to be kind or understanding, that’s for damn sure.

Duncs smacks him on the back of the head, too hard to be playful, “That’s a shitty thing to do the team, Jonny.” Jonny feels the hit in his shoulder and winces. Duncs is right, though, and he deserves the pain. He’s being shitty-ass captain and he needs to get his head back in the game.

~~~

They’re tied 1-1 with two minutes left in the third and Jonny’s thinking they’ll probably end up in OT. It’s been a hard fought game, dirty and fast paced. All the stats are in Buffalo’s favor, except maybe face-offs, but somehow the Hawks D (mostly Duncs, if he’s honest) and Conners (the fucking crazy kid of a goalie they found buried in the AHL three weeks before the playoffs) have kept them alive.

Coach nods at him to  _go_  and Jonny tamps down the thought that his body cannot make it through another shift. Almost as soon as he’s out there on the ice, the Sabres move the puck into the Hawks' zone. And Jonny thinks,  _oh fuck no_ , as a Sabres forward, he doesn’t even see who, knocks him on his ass and then passes to his boy who’s right in front of the net and scores, clean and pretty.  

~~~ 

**August 15, 2015, 3:50PM**

**Buffalo, NY**

Pat tugs at his tie and glances around the sanctuary. It’s filling up quickly. The priest told them this was a relatively popular Mass, but Pat just hopes it’s over quick. Jonny bumps shoulders with him. “What’re you thinking about, Kaner? What’s got you so antsy? I think you’re only words are like ‘I do’ or something.”

Jonny’s smiling. He and Pat have been given matching corsages, father and godfather. Father. Fuck. “I’m just thinking about the last time I was here and wishing I could get the hell out.”

Jonny’s face goes blank and he nods. “Yeah.”

Pat says, “I wish he was here. I wish  _my_  dad could be here today, you know?”

Jonny nods some more. He probably doesn’t want to hear Pat’s whining. Pat hates it when dudes pour shit like this on him. He never knows what to say. It’s just, “He should be here. He should have been able to see Avery. Like, obviously it’s not bothering anyone else. Even mom seems great, I don’t know. It’s stupid. Never mind.”

His mom is sitting a few seats down from him and she has a sleeping Avery in her arms. She is smiling softly down at her granddaughter and talking, or maybe singing. Actually, after that initial phone call, the night before his father died, his mother had been nothing but supportive of his decision to have a child. They’ve been in Buffalo for the last month and she’s been over almost every day, cleaning house and helping out with Avery.

He and Gracie have really needed the third set of hands. It’s allowed Pat to train regularly, and, even if Gracie doesn’t always agree, that’s been worth any invasion of privacy. He’d lost a significant amount of weight last season and that loss had shown up in his play.

Soft organ music begins and he catches his mother’s eye. He wants Avery in his arms in case she wakes up and starts fussing. He’s the one with the diaper bag. His blanketed bundle of a daughter is passed from arm to arm, and, luckily, she doesn’t wake up. Thank fuck for swaddling.

He looks down at her and strokes her soft cheek. The white stretchy headband Gracie found for her is listing and refuses to cooperate as he tries to readjust it. Honestly, though, headband aside, Avery’s probably the sweetest, most beautiful baby he’s ever seen. Ever.

Gracie grabs his hand and he turns to her. She’s looking ahead at the priest who’s starting the Mass. Pat thinks she’s gorgeous, perfect even. Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect smile. No one would guess that she’d recently had a baby or that she’d spent two weeks in the hospital afterwards recovering. Pat’s had a lot of ladies, but never anyone with the ability to appear as put together as Gracie. That’s why he married her. That’s why he wanted her to have his baby. He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back, smiling.

 ~~~

Gracie comes down the stairs with Avery, who’s screaming. She’s doing the thing with the three or four abbreviated shrieks followed by the long, body-shaking sobs. Pat fucking hates this particular variety of fit. It’s not funny like the hiccupping whine she sometimes tries. No, this cry is pure agony for Pat. He can _never_  calm her when she gets like this.

“Patrick,” Gracie says, holding Avery out to him. “Will you please take her since you’re still up?” And, now, Gracie looks like shit. All she’s got on is one of his long sleeved Hawk’s t-shirts. Her hair is sticking up to one side, but totally flat in the back. She must not have washed her face before crawling into bed because she has blotchy streaks of blue and grey around her eyes. He wonders if she’s been drinking, again. He thinks he can smell the wine.

Looking at the dozen or so empty beer cans stacked on the table in front of him and Jonny, Pat supposes he shouldn’t judge. But he’s pretty damn pissed. They’d agreed she would take Avery for the evening. They’d actually fucking discussed this shit. And if she thinks she can just come down here and pawn Avery off because she got fucking drunk, then she’s got another thing coming. “Gracie, hun,” Pat says. “I  _told_  you Jonny and I are--”

Jonny’s out of his seat and taking Avery from Gracie before Pat finishes the sentence. Over Pat’s protests, he says, “I’ve got her, Gracie. Go back to sleep.”

Gracie smiles at Jonny, wide and genuine, and,  _fuck_ , Pat hasn’t seen her grin like that in ages. “You’re a lifesaver, Jonny.” She looks at Pat before turning to go back upstairs and her smile is gone. “You are lucky to have a friend like him, babe.”

Jonny is walking around with Avery bouncing her and murmuring who knows what the fuck in French. And Avery just keeps yelling at him.

“She’s probably hungry, man,” Pat says. “I’ll go get her a bottle.”  

When he returns, bottle in hand, Avery’s still crying. Actually, she seems even more worked up. Jonny’s still walking and talking with her, brows furrowed like he’s decided he’s gonna calm her with his hard work and determination.

Pat’s not sure she’ll take the bottle, not when she’s this angry, but he reaches for her and says, “Here, let me.”

Jonny meets his eyes, serious. “Can I try? You know, to feed her?”

Handing Jonny the bottle, Pat says, “Sure.” And then immediately regrets it as he watches Jonny attempt to fumble Avery into the right position. He wouldn’t have guessed that Jonny’s never done the baby-feeding thing before, but he clearly hasn’t.

“Sit down,” Pat instructs. “It’s way easier.”

Jonny does, never taking his eyes away from Avery’s red, scrunched up face.

“Now, just,” Pat moves in to help adjust her in Jonny’s arms, so she’s at the right angle. Jonny lets himself be molded, smiling down at Avery like she’s the best thing ever. Which, Pat remembers, she is. And, at some point in this whole ordeal, she’s stopped crying. Now, she’s sucking on the bottle like a hungry, hungry beast. Pat wonders if Gracie fed her before putting her down. She should not be this hungry right now.

He sticks his finger in her diaper. It’s wet, of course. “Jonny, I’m gonna go grab fresh diaper. I’ll be right back.” Jonny nods, still not looking up from Avery.

When he returns, Avery has finished the bottle and Jonny is trying to burp her. He’s got her over his shoulder, which is good, but he’s rubbing these soft little circles on her back and that usually isn’t enough to get the job done.

“Hold on, man,” Pat says. He pulls a cloth from the diaper bag he’s just grabbed from upstairs and tucks it in underneath Avery on Jonny’s shoulder. “Now be a little more forceful.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Jonny says, frowning at Pat.

“I didn’t say to punch her. I usually just, like, pat her, kinda hard, but not too hard.”  

When they’ve finished with all the burping (which Jonny eventually succeeds at) and the diaper changing (which Jonny graciously allows Pat to step in for), Avery’s eyes start drooping. Jonny takes her back and rocks her. Watching Jonny study her intently, press the tip of his finger to her nose, place a soft kiss on her forehead, and call her his “angel,” Pat’s heart aches.

Jonny should be the dad, not him. Jonny was born for this. Jonny’s spent barely any time with Avery at all, has only held her in his arms through a tantrum, and yet he’s already clearly in love with her (something Pat totally understands and, yet, it surprises him all the same.)

Pat has this crazy picture in his head of the two of them, him and Jonny, raising Avery together, teaching her to skate, reading with her, taking her to her first day of school, wrapping all her Christmas gifts, coaching her peewee hockey team, interrogating her first boyfriend. That’s all going to be fine with Gracie, Pat knows. But part of him wonders if it wouldn’t be just a little bit better with Jonny.

Jonny says, “So I was talking with Gracie earlier and um... she said some stuff.” He sounds really nervous. Pat’s heart drops. Fuck Gracie.

Pat’s not going to say it. Nothing’s been decided, yet. He  _knew_  he should have waited to even breathe a word of it. The only reason he told Gracie was in case some media outlet caught on. His wife shouldn’t find out from the press. But, like, she also shouldn’t have told _Jonny_.

“Yeah?” he says.

“She said you’re thinking about signing with the Sabres, Kaner.” Jonny’s speaking really quietly and Pat doesn’t know if it’s because of what he’s saying or because Avery’s fallen asleep in his arms.

“I haven’t decided anything. Gracie shouldn’t have told you.” Pat says. He knows he sounds defensive, maybe even angry.

“You have to stay in Chicago, Kaner. It’s where we belong. Together.” Jonny’s voice is still low, but it’s got a confident, determined edge to it. He’s bordering on captain-voice. He continues after a moment, “That’s what we said after that first Cup, remember? That we wanted to be Hawks for life, you know? Don’t you remember, Kaner?”

He remembers, but everything is different now. He has a wife and a baby. His mom is all by herself. And, the kicker, he hasn’t been playing well in Chicago, not for most of last season. Actually, he has the worst stats of his career.

Leaving Chicago makes sense. The Sabres have some talented young guys, but are clearly lacking on veteran wisdom. He’d been watching a lot of tape lately. He thinks he’d probably play really well with them. And their (new) GM told Pat he expected major changes in coaching in the next couple years, for the better.

Best of all, his mom would be able watch Avery while he and Gracie worked. And Jess is about to have a baby, too, so Avery would have a playmate.

“It’s not just me anymore,” Pat says, looking pointedly at Avery, still sleeping on Jonny’s chest.

“Yeah, cause Gracie’s thrilled about moving to Buffalo to live with your family,” Jonny counters. Fucking Gracie. Pat thinks Jonny’s beginning to sound bitter, too.

“That’s what this is about, huh? She set you on me? To convince me to stay in Chicago?” Pat’s voice raises a little, and Avery stirs, but doesn’t wake.

“Pat,” Jonny whispers. “Please don’t leave.”

Pat buries his head in his hands. He feels so ill-equipped to make this kind of decision. Especially when his mom wants one thing, Jonny wants another, and his agent’s suggesting something different entirely, like going to the Canucks or maybe the Bruins.

He plucks Avery out of Jonny’s arms. “I’m gonna put her back in her crib. You ready for bed?”

“Pat, come on. Let’s think this through,” Jonny says.

“This is my decision, Jonny. You already made yours, back when you re-signed in March. I’m tired.”

Jonny blinks and then his face darkens. He opens his mouth and then closes it. Finally, looking lost, he says, “I didn’t know you wanted me to wait, Kaner. I thought you’d be right behind.”

~~~

**Game Three: Thursday, June 15, 2023 11PM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

They win. They finally fucking win. His team, which has been working so hard all season, finally gets it done.

The victory didn’t feel hard fought, either. The Sabres looked a little foolish out on the ice tonight, losing 4-1. Passes missed, dumb penalties, gloves dropping.

Sure, their powerplay felt fierce (the _one_  Chicago had given them, early in the first) and they pulled it together for a fast-paced second half of the second period, but, other than that, Chicago was the better team. And Jonny had an assist, which was a relief. He really, really needs to be putting up points.

It’s just one game. It doesn’t mean they’re gonna win the series. But it feels good, nonetheless, especially when he’s heard all kinds of whispers about the Hawks not deserving to make it this far and about how they’re going to get swept.

He thinks about Kaner and wants to text him, to chirp him about the loss. He can take it. His team is more than likely to bounce back. But, after the other night, or, really, the other morning, and the warm, familiar kisses they shared, Jonny feels strangely off where Kaner’s concerned.  

They’ve haven’t hooked up since the summer after their last Cup together. It’s been a fucking close thing, though, really fucking close, especially lately. But it’s just.

Jonny thinks about Kaner with Gracie, on their wedding day, about the awe in Kaner’s eyes every time he looked at her. He’ll never be that to Kaner. Never.

They’re just friends, good friends, best friends, even, who used to have sex and now. Now kiss?

But those kisses felt  _meaningful_. Jonny feels like things might be changing. Pat’s affection is something he’s spent years seeking, but now, with it turned on him like this, with intention, Jonny feels suddenly out of control. A little lost and a lot helpless.

~~~

He gets a text from Sharpy later that evening inviting him to dinner the next day. Abby’s a wonderful cook and Jonny enjoys hanging out with their kids, so he agrees, though he warns Sharpy that it’s a busy time of year, obviously, and he’ll have to dine and dash.

When he arrives, Madelyn answers the door. She’s wearing these impossibly tiny shorts and an itty-bitty tank top. It’s not even 70 degrees out.

From somewhere farther in the house, Jonny hears, “I am going to punch you in the balls, Eddie!”

Madelyn sighs, rolling her neck as she does so, and steps aside to let Jonny in. “Hi, Jonny. We’re babysitting Avery for a few days. Ugh. She is such a brat. I don’t even think she knows what ‘balls’ are.”

Abby walks up behind her. “Hi, Jonny! Maddie. I told you to put some clothes on before Jonny got here. Let’s go.”

Madelyn sighs, again, and says, “These are clothes, Mom. Anyway, Dad’s wearing sweat pants.”

Abby raises her eyebrows. “Be my guest, darling, and wear sweat pants. But let’s not let Jonny think you’re some sort of hussy who tromps around naked.”

“Don’t be gross, Mom. I’m only twelve,” Madelyn says, walking out of the room.

Abby smiles warmly at Jonny. “Dinner’s got about twenty minutes left in the oven. You like baked spaghetti, right? Lena is only eating noodles these days.”

Sharpy’s sitting at the bar in the kitchen, dicking around on his iPad. He stands, gives Jonny a hug, and pulls out a stool. “Good to see you! You looked good last night.”

Jonny winces. “You know that’s not really true.”

Sharpy gets up again and goes to the fridge. He comes back with an ice pack which he hands to Jonny. “For your shoulder.”

Avery runs into the room, screeching, “Uncle Jonny!” She stops right in front of him and squints. She reaches out to pinch him and shouts, “You’re it! Chase me!” Then she giggles, crazily, and it reminds Jonny of Kaner’s drunken laugh.  

Jonny pinches Sharpy. “You’re it,” he mutters.

Avery looks at Sharpy, and her eyes widen as if she just noticed him. She bursts into tears and buries her head in Jonny’s legs.

Jonny laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

Sharpy frowns. “Laugh all you want, Jonny, but it’s not that funny. I had to leave the dinner table last night because she wouldn’t eat with me in the room.”

~~~

Madelyn reappears for dinner, now in sweatpants with Blackhawks lettering down the side of one leg. They are way too big for her, sliding low on her hips. “Happy, Mom?”

Abby sighs and takes the spaghetti out of the oven.

Jonny manages to convince Avery to eat with them, despite Shapry’s malevolent presence. She pulls her chair up right next to Jonny’s and spends most of the meal in his lap.

Jonny’s just finishing up his second helping, when the doorbell rings. Madelyn who’s barely touched her food, jumps up. “I’ll get it.”

And she’s gone.

Abby sighs, again. “Just you wait until Avery is a teenager, Jonny, just you wait.”

Madelyn’s laugh, an usually high-pitched titter, carries from the foyer into the dining area, mingling with a softer male chuckle. Abby looks at Sharpy and says, “I swear to God, Patrick. That man encourages this behavior. I swear to God.”   

Sharpy laughs. “The way I see it, as long as she still has a crush on Peeks, we’re safe from teenage boys.”

When Kaner enters the kitchen, Avery runs into his arms, suddenly crying. Over her shoulder, he mouths at Abby, “Sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have come.” To Avery, he says, “What’s wrong, baby girl?”

Madelyn says, “She was fine before you got here. She’s just putting on a show, like always.”  Meanwhile, Avery is looking from Kaner to Sharpy and back again, her lip trembling.

Jonny laughs. Her fear of Sharpy is maybe the funniest thing has ever happened in his whole life.

Kaner twists out of her grasp and squats. “We talked about this, Avery.” His voice is hard. “Uncle Sharpy is not going to hurt you and you know that. You’re a big girl and this is not cute and not funny.” He spares a hard look for Jonny, and then continues, “Uncle Sharpy and Aunt Abby are being generous to have you at their house and feed you and play with you and take you to the pool. You need to man up, baby girl, and  _be nice to Uncle Sharpy_.”

Avery nods, now with real tears in her eyes.

“What do you say, Avery?” Jonny has no idea how Kaner can keep his voice so hard while steadily holding Avery’s woeful gaze.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Baby girl, you should not be apologizing to me.”

She turns and looks at Sharpy. He’s smiling, kindly. “I’m sorry, Uncle Sharpy.”

She looks back to Kaner who nods approvingly and gives her a little shove back toward the table.

Kaner pulls up a chair next to Jonny, and, without even saying hello, finishes off the last couple forkfuls of spaghetti on his plate.

“Kaner,” Madelyn says. “I’ve figured out how to cheer for you at the United Center tomorrow.”

Kaner hooks his ankle around Jonny’s underneath the table, tight enough that Jonny thinks he would draw more attention by pulling away than by continuing to allow the contact. Smiling at Jonny, Kaner says to Madelyn, “Yeah, how?”  

Madelyn twists a strand of brown hair around a finger and, literally, bats her eyelashes at Kaner as she says, “Mom has a Hawks jersey with your name on it.”

Abby laughs, “You’re not wearing Kaner’s jersey, Maddie.”

Madelyn turns to look at Sharpy, head tilted and eyebrows raised. And when he replies, “You heard your mother,” she sighs, looking tremendously put upon.

“I’m tired, Uncle Jonny,” Avery says, and crawls into his lap.

Madelyn focuses her gaze on Avery, and says, “Avery gets to wear one.”

Jonny checks his watch as Abby says, “And you can wear _your_  father’s jersey, if you’d like.”

Jonny rubs Avery’s back and says, “Gotta let me up, Angel. I’ve got to go home and get some rest.”

Kaner squeezes his shoulder. “Let me walk you out.”

Avery clambers off him and then dances out of the room, apparently not  _that_  tired.

“Thanks for everything, Abby, Sharpy. See you guys later, Maddie, Lena, Eddie.” Elena and Eddie are tickling each other. Maddie is picking at her food and glaring at her mother. Sharpy and Abby wave goodbye.

Sharpy says, “Don’t be a stranger this summer. Stop by again before you leave for... wherever you’re going to train this year. Wait, have you got your contract stuff all straightened out?”

“Not yet,” Jonny says. “Not really thinking about it till after the playoffs. See you!”

He walks to the door and Kaner follows closely. Jonny says, trying to sound playful, like he doesn’t care, “What are you doing, man? You don’t have to walk me out?”

In answer, Kaner pins him to the door and kisses him. It’s rough and quick, catching Jonny by surprise. Kaner lifts his head before Jonny has a chance to even decide whether or not he’d like to deepen the kiss. “Good luck tomorrow, Jonny,” he says, reaching around him to open the door.

Jonny’s can’t help it. He wants this to be them so badly, has wanted it this way for so long that he doesn’t question it. He just says, “My next goal’ll be for you.”

Kaner does the finger gun, winky motion. “Same, baby, same.”

~~~

**Wednesday, July 11, 2018 10PM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

Pat’s beat. He’s just popped the top off his first (and probably only, if he’s honest) beer of the night and is, finally, lying back in bed. He’d spent the day coddling his very sick toddler. Poor kid has this terrible cough and terrifyingly high fever. Before she came along, Pat didn’t even know kids got sick in the summer. The thing is, it feels like Avery gets sick all the  _goddamn_ time.

The doctors think she might have some sort of chronic immune condition, but they can’t really tell. And, like, what the  _fuck._ That is their _goddamn_  job. It’s gotten to the point where Pat is scared of taking her outside or, even, like, to team family things because she keeps catching shit, ear infections, stomach bugs, pink eye.

Pat’s seen her like she is now, before: chest aching, body-wracking coughs, fever, and so, so tired and crabby. Last time, he’d driven her, hazy with panic, to the emergency room where the doctors had given her some antibiotics, told him to calm the fuck down, and instructed that Pat take her to her regular pediatrician at a reasonable hour if there was a relapse.

When he called his mom at noon to tell her he was staying home with Avery instead of going in to the gym, she  _freaked_ out. Mostly, she was angry about Gracie disappearing again. But, like, what the fuck else is new? He and Gracie had started fighting the day he’d signed in Buffalo and they hadn’t really stopped, except during the summers which Gracie has spent “abroad.” And that’s worked for them. They have the _best sex_ when she comes back. And Pat  _likes_  the one-on-one time with Avery.

He only wishes she wouldn’t get so sick. Which, like, she usually doesn’t when Gracie’s home, as his mother had pointed out, again, today, making Pat feel like the most inadequate parent ever. And, on top of sharing her disdain for his marriage, his mother was also insistent that Pat should take Avery to the ER, or at least urgent care. Apparently, she was a  _mother_  so she knows better than Pat, better than the ER doctors.

Pat flips on the television. NBCSN is playing golf. It reminds him of Jonny, Jonny whom he  _misses._ So he texts him:  _Fuckin golf man fuckin golf  
_

Jonny texts back almost immediately:  _U love it fucker_

Pat laughs.  _Not like hockey_

Jonny’s answer comes quickly, again:  _How r u_

And then, before Pat decides what to reply:  _Hows avery_

Pat sets down his beer. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t heard her cough in a few minutes. He decides to check on her.

She’s sleeping, very still, in her bed, which, shit, she must be tired. She’s usually a squirmer. He moves in close to press a kiss to her hot forehead.

As he steps back, he notices that her lips look weird, like, not the right color.  _Fuck. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit._

She’s not breathing.  _Holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Okay, wait, okay, she is breathing, just not a lot, and with difficulty.

He shakes her awake and she opens her eyes with a choking cough. “Dad?” Her voice sounds weak. Fuck, Pat hates this shit so much.

He untangles her from her blankets and hoists her up into his arms. “Hey, baby girl. You’re not feeling very good, are you?”

Avery moves her head from side to side and then closes her eyes again. Pat grabs her comforter with one hand and wraps it loosely around her shoulders. “We’re going to go to the doctors, so they can make you feel better, okay?”

Avery snuggles his shoulder and mumbles something he doesn’t quite get.

“What’s that, baby girl?”

“With Bob,” she says, a little more clearly.

He leans over to look for her stuffed animal amidst the pillows and sheets. Avery clings to him. He finally comes up with the plush Tommy Hawk Jonny had brought to the hospital when she’d first been born.

“Bob!” Avery says and grabs it from him. Bob stinks, Pat notes, and he thinks he’ll have to remember to wash him soon, if he can distract Avery long enough.

~~~

Later, sitting next to Avery sleeping, so small on the adult-sized hospital bed, Pat does not remember the drive to the hospital. All he can think about is Avery’s bluish lips, her fucking greying fingernails, and her godawful labored wheezing.

A doctor pulls back the curtain cozying off their space. She’s carrying a thick file and a clip board. She looks at Pat, “Mr. Kane?”

He nods.

“Is her mother around? Do you want to grab her?”

Pat licks his lips. “Yeah, no. It’s just me, tonight.”

The doctor smiles, small and kind, at Avery’s sleeping form. “It’s good you brought her in, Mr. Kane.”

Pat’s heart drops. He doesn’t feel affirmed (well, maybe a little). He mostly feels panicked as shit. “Is she going to be okay? What’s wrong with her? Why are her lips blue?”

“I expect her to make a full recovery. The x-rays are pretty telling. She has a bad case of pneumonia. The file says this is her second time in for this?”

Pat nods. He is such shitty father. “Yeah, but last time they said to take her to the pediatrician. I was going to go in with her first thing tomorrow. But then, I checked on her and  _her lips were blue._ ”

The doctor keeps smiling, eyes mostly on Avery. “You did the right thing, Mr. Kane. We’ll start her on antibiotics right away, which is just what her pediatrician would have done. But she’s pretty dehydrated and deoxygenated, so we’re going to admit her. We’ve got her stabilized and we’ll keep an eye on her for the next 24 hours, save you from another scare, in case her condition worsens before the antibiotics start to do their work.”

Pat nods again, her words rolling past him. He’s having difficulty processing anything aside from the fact that Avery will probably be okay. And that he fucking sucks as a parent. He should be able to take care of his kid, damnit.  _Fuck._

“And then, once she’s released, she’ll need lots of rest and water. And you’ve got to finish her on the full course of antibiotics. A lot of parents don’t follow through and that’s a problem. This has a tendency to recur, so you’ll want to watch out for it and go to the pediatrician right away, if you start to suspect it’s coming back so it doesn’t get this bad again.”

The doctor reminds him of his mother and he suddenly wants to shout at her that just because he’s a  _man_ doesn’t mean he’s incapable of taking care of his daughter. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t pay attention. He’s  _trying_. He’ll try harder, be better.

“Any questions?”

Pat shakes his head. He has lots of questions, but he sure as fuck isn’t going to ask her. Not when she’s judging him so goddamned hard.

“Someone will be in shortly with some forms for you to sign and to move you guys to one of the in-patient rooms. If she wakes up, I want to try her on some juice, apple would be best, probably, if she’ll drink it. I’ll have one of the nurses bring it for you.”

After she walks out, he reaches for his phone. He should probably let his mom know what’s up. He dials.

“Pat?”

It’s Jonny. He sounds groggy. Pat looks down at his phone. He dialed Jonny somehow, by accident.

“Pat? Are you there? Are you drunk?”

Shit. Okay. “Hey, Jonny, sorry, wrong number. I meant to call my mom.”

Jonny chuckles, voice rough with sleep. “Perfect, just a second, she’s right here.”

“Fuck you,” Pat replies. “Sorry.”

“Hold on, Pat,” Jonny says. Pat hears a rustling. Jonny sounds muffled and soft when he says, “Okay, sorry.”

“Oh, like, did you just...? Are you with someone? I’ve got to call my mom.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to wake Ashley.” Of fucking course, Jonny’s with his girlfriend. He’s been living with her for at least the last six months. Pat still hasn’t met her, but Sharpy has and he strongly approves, so Pat figures things are pretty damn serious. “Is something wrong? Why are you calling your mom at 2AM?”

“Jonny,” Pat says. He should just let him go back to sleep. That’s what a good friend would do. Apologize for waking up his bro and then disconnect the fucking call.

But then Jonny says, “Pat, what’s going on?”

“Fuck, Jonny. I suck at this. I’m such a bad father. I’m at the hospital. I had to rush Avery to the emergency room.”

“Oh my god! Is she...? Fuck, what’s going on?”

Pat rubs at his hair. The panic in Jonny’s voice causes something to loosen in him.  “No, I mean, calm down. She’s going to be fine. I think. That’s what the doctor said. But, like, fuck, Jonny. Her lips turned blue. I thought she’d stopped breathing. Jonny.” Pat can hear the whine in his voice. He’s not going to be successful in calming Jonny down.

“Pat. Oh my god. But she’s going to okay?” Jonny sounds totally awake now. And he’s speaking louder, like maybe he’s left his bedroom.

“Yeah. I think so. It’s pneumonia, which, like, she’s had before. And that’s why I wasn’t panicking all day long with the fever and the coughing. But apparently it’s bad enough that they want to keep her overnight, watch her. I don’t know.”

“Fuck. That’s awful, Pat,” he says, and pauses. Then, he says, “Hey, so, I called you earlier.”  

“Okay, why?” Pat says. Avery’s stirring. He thinks she might wake, but she only coughs a few times and rolls over, sheets tangling around her.

“Well, to see how you were doing. In more than 140 character updates. And also to see if, maybe, I could come see you and Gracie and Avery this summer.”

Pat smiles and says, “Yeah. I’d love that, man. So would Avery. What’s your training schedule? When do you have free? I mean, actually, can we talk about this another time?”

Jonny doesn’t answer for a second. “Yeah, with Avery sick, maybe it’s not a good idea. Unless, I guess I could help. But, so, this thing fell through with Ashley’s parents next weekend, like two days from now. And I was wondering--”

“Yes! Come on out here. When do you think you could fly in?” Pat’s enthusiasm surprises him. He tries to lower his voice a little when he says, “I mean, I don’t have plans this weekend.”

Jonny laughs. “Shouldn’t you check in with Gracie? It’s her house, too, right?”

Pat frowns. “Gracie’ll be out of town, actually. She has a work thing.” He’s lying. Gracie’s who the fuck knows where in Europe, partying it up and definitely not for any ‘work’ thing. He doesn’t know why the hell he’s lying to Jonny, but it seems desperately important that Jonny not know that he doesn’t know exactly where Gracie is.

“Okay, cool. Then I guess you probably will need the help, with her gone.”

Pat holds down a snort. As if Gracie helps. Then again, he’s the one whose poor decisions keep putting their daughter in the ER. “Let me know when you’ve booked your flight. I’ll pick you up.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Pat. I’ll take a taxi. Fuck, okay, Ashley is getting up to look for me. Gotta go. Give Avery a kiss for me?”  

~~~

**Game Four: Saturday, June 17, 2023 8:45PM**

**Chicago, IL**

By the end of the second, Jonny is having difficulty pretending they have any hope of pulling this one out. Buffalo is up 4-0 and it’s demoralizing, especially at home. He suspects Kane of somehow getting into Conners’ head, because, even though the fucker has yet to tap any into the back of the net, he’s made three assists and created, at least, five solid chances for his teammates.

For his part, Jonny sees the plays he should make, but only after they happen. He just can’t seem to keep up with the pace of play. During his last shift, before the end of the period, he’d had the puck twice, and, both times, he’d lost it. It’d been stripped right off his stick and, then, thirty seconds later, he’d passed it right onto the Sabres defenseman’s waiting tape. What the fuck.

Honestly, he’s ready to give up, and go home to regroup for the road trip. He’s so fucking tired.

Duncs sits beside him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Jonny wonders if he’s ready to give up, as well. But then he says, “Kaner just texted me. Said to tell you that he’d be up for a pity fuck later. If you beg.”

Jonny feels his face go hot and his pulse spike. “Oh, fuck him,” Jonny hisses. “The fucking asshole.”

Jonny shakes his head. He turns to look at Duncs, and says, “I’ll tell you who’s going to... fuck. You know what? That little fucker is going to get himself  _fucked up_.”

Jonny stands and clears his throat. “Alright boys,” he says, calling his teammates to attention. “These assholes think they can embarrass us like this? In our own goddamn house? Well, let’s show them they have another fucking thing coming.” He starts to spew angry filth about the Sabres as a team, about their players, their mothers, their dirty-ass tactics. Sometimes this kind of speech is intentional, meant to rile the guys up. But today, right now, with Kaner’s asshole offer in the front of his mind, Jonny’s not sure he could say anything else.

Still, it seems to work. Because they explode out onto the ice for the first five minutes or so. But then, that huge-ass Sabres defenseman Rimanov gets a breakaway. Like, that shouldn’t even be possible, he’s usually big and slow. And he passes it to Peterson, who’s somehow gotten ahead, out of the Hawks’ reach. And Peterson puts it in, right over Conners’ glove, a fucking beauty of chance and an ace of goal.

It’s over after that. Both teams look pretty ugly. The Sabres give their top guys a little bit of a rest and the other lines get a little sloppy, so the Hawks end up scoring  _one_. Still, the relief they feel at blocking the shutout is minimal compared to the panic associated with playing so embarrassingly ugly in the  _Stanley Cup Finals_.

Jonny’s does his requisite interviews after the game, assuring the press that the guys are gonna look at this series one game at a time, not give up hope.

When he gets home he’s still a little riled, so he makes himself a gin and tonic and turns on the golf tournament he’d TiVoed from last weekend. He keeps the bottles of gin and tonic water beside him, deciding, what the hell, he deserves to get a little drunk after the shitshow he participated in earlier.

He goes through his text messages, saving Kaner’s for last. Sure enough, there’s one from right after the second period:  _Want me tofcuk u again later??? eh? ;)_

An hour after the game was over, Kaner had sent him another:  _Seriosly tho u wanna fuck?_

He texts back,  _Go fuck yourself._ It’s not an original comeback, but it aptly expresses his feelings.

Jonny takes his play seriously enough that he knows getting fucked right now would be a bad idea, even if his dick literally jumps at the idea of Kaner pressing into him. Goddamnit, he is so fucking weak for him. Still.

Jonny thinks back to before, when he and Kaner were young and stupid and teammates and roommates and so fucking close. He thinks about how, after an ugly loss, Kaner would crawl into Jonny’s lap and pull out Jonny’s soft cock. Jonny would pretend not to care. Sometimes, he’d push him away like he didn’t want it. He’d try to stay pissed about the game for as long as possible. Kaner would just snicker at him, undaunted, and suck and lick and moan around Jonny’s dick until Jonny was coming down his throat.

Jonny’s chest aches, remembering his own naivety. He lets the memory go and pours himself another drink.

When he finishes it, it’s close to 2am and he finally starting to feel tired. He closes his eyes, only for them to fly open a few seconds later.

Someone is pounding on his apartment door. His first thought is Kaner. It’s been fucking ten years since Kaner’s come to his door in the middle of the night for a drunken booty call and that is still Jonny’s first fucking thought. Those goddamn texts.

Jonny gets up, wincing as he pushes himself off the couch. He should have iced his shoulder.  _Fuck_. It had been feeling fine after the game so he hadn’t even thought, but now it’s really fucking sore.

He opens the door. And it  _is_  Kaner. It is fucking Kaner, with that familiar, drunken “let me fuck you” half-a-grin on his face. Jonny closes the door and then closes his eyes.

Kaner resumes pounding. “Let me in. I walked here from the bar and it was a long-ass walk,” Jonny hears him shout.

He opens the door a second time and allows Kaner to step inside.

Kaner closes the door behind him and looks at Jonny. Jonny looks back. Kaner’s slouched, that sloppy smile plastered on his face, but his eyes are sharp, alert, maybe even sober.

“Thank fuck your doorman was a fan back in the day and recognized me because you weren’t answering your fucking phone,” he says and walks past Jonny into the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and downs it in a couple of gulps. Then, he refills it and hands it to Jonny, who drinks, more slowly.

Kaner’s smile has faded a little bit. Jonny wants to ask what the hell he’s doing here, why the fuck he’s not with his team or at his hotel, but he doesn’t.

Kaner says, “You’re playing like you’re tired.”

Jonny sets the glass of water down, still half full. “You know about my shoulder, you fucker.”

Kaner frowns. “I didn’t say you’re playing like you’re injured, even though, obviously, you are. I said you’re playing like you’re tired. Like you’re done.”

That fucking hurts. It’s like Kaner kneed him in the fucking balls. “I’m not done, Kaner. Hockey’s my life. I just need another shoulder surgery and some solid recovery time. I’m not done.”

Kaner shrugs, face neutral, like he doesn’t believe Jonny. Or maybe he just doesn’t care, now that they no longer play together.

“That text was fucked up. Don’t say that shit to me. You’ve never been such an asshole before, you fucker. And why did you text fucking Duncs?!” The rant is out of Jonny’s mouth before he’s thought about it.

Kaner shrugs again, smiling a little now. “Sure fired you up, though, didn’t it? You guys came out the gate and played your best three shifts of the game.”

And that confuses Jonny because it sounds like Kaner was trying to help them out, which is against everything hockey ever. And even the thought that Kaner would do something so fucking sacrificial for Jonny and the Hawks pisses Jonny off even more.

“That’s not how this works, Pat. You’re not supposed to help me out.”

Kaner moves toward him. “Didn’t really help that much, in the end, did it?”

Jonny finds himself backed up against his kitchen wall, next to his overflowing trash can.  “Kaner what the fuck is going on?”

Kaner shakes his head and presses his mouth against Jonny’s. The kiss is hard, not angry or bitter, but desperate, open mouthed and wet. And it matches exactly how Jonny feels, suddenly, about Kaner, about the two of them.

Jonny grabs the back of Kaner’s head, crushing them together. Their teeth clack and it hurts, but Kaner’s licking into Jonny’s mouth, hard and rough, and just the way Jonny has always loved it.

Kaner shoves a thigh between Jonny’s legs, still biting and tonguing and moaning against Jonny’s lips. Jonny’s thrusts, enjoying the firm friction of Kaner’s solid, thick thigh against his dick.

Jonny watches, eyelids heavy, as Kaner steps back a bit and licks his lips. They’re pink, slick and shiny, and Jonny’s about to move back in on them, when Kaner says, “Shit, Jonny, I want to feel your ass. Like, against my dick, right the fuck now.”

Kaner’s voice sounds ragged, and Jonny palms himself through his underwear. He turns around and braces himself against the wall. Kaner places his hands over Jonny’s and suddenly, seeing Kaner’s pale fingers lacing with his own darker ones, what they’re doing feels so much more intimate. Jonny’s head clears a little and he realizes that this position has his shoulder throbbing.

Fuck, but this is so good and he’s missed it so much. Nothing else, nobody else, gets him like this, has ever gotten him like this: turned on as fuck, but also brimming with all sorts of wonderful, shitty feelings.

Kaner rasps against Jonny’s ear, “I think about this so fucking much.”

He grinds his dick, hard, on Jonny’s ass, and, fuck, Jonny can picture it now, full and fat and pink, with a pearl of precome just waiting for Jonny to lap it up. Kaner says, “I miss you, Jonny. I really fucking miss you.”

Jonny pushes back into him, reveling in how completely blissed out Kaner sounds. And that little push must get to Kaner because he thrusts harder, throwing Jonny’s weight off and sending bright, sharp pain through his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Jonny says, crumbling to the floor and clutching at where it hurts. “Fuck, Pat, fuck. Oh my god.”

Kaner follows him down. “Jonny. Holy shit, your shoulder. I forgot. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is not... I didn’t...”

Jonny glares at Kaner to shut him up and draws a shaky breath. His shoulder still  _fucking_ hurts. Damn it.

Kaner goes to the freezer, pulls out an ice pack and hands it to Jonny. Frowning, Jonny sets it on the ground. He should probably take a look at the injury first. He probably just worsened the strain, but he can’t be too careful.

Kaner says, “Where’re your painkillers? Are you taking something stronger than Ibuprofen?”

Jonny blinks at him. “Actually, can you help me get this shirt off? I want to see what’s... yeah.”  

Together, they manage to free Jonny from his t-shirt. Nothing looks out of ordinary and so Jonny leans back against the wall, most of his weight on his good shoulder, and presses on the ice pack. Kaner wraps it for him, without a word, and then sits beside him.

Kaner says, “This is why we never hooked up during the playoffs. I’m sorry, Jonny. I just...”

Jonny closes his eyes. He should be mad. He expects anger to flare up in him any second. But it doesn’t. “It’s fine, Kaner. My shoulder is a liability to my team, sex strained or not.”

“I should call a cab. Get back to the hotel,” Kaner says. He scoots closer to Jonny, so he’s flush against Jonny’s good side, and places a hand on Jonny’s knee. Leaning over, he presses a few gentle kisses against Jonny’s bearded chin. Jonny turns so their lips meet.

They leave their lips barely touching, breath mingling. After a moment, Kaner gives him a couple soft nips and lets his hand slide up underneath Jonny’s boxer briefs. When his thumb brushes up against Jonny’s balls, Jonny shudders, head falling back against the wall.

Lips to Jonny’s jaw, Kaner murmurs, “Can I?”

Jonny’s not fully hard yet, but he is horny again, so he nods. Kaner smiles, widely, sweet, not sexy at all and, of course, it has Jonny’s breath catching. And then he’s squeezing Jonny’s dick, and his grip is not gentle nor soft nor sweet.

Jonny’s hands scramble for purchase on the cool tiles. “Fuck, Kaner.”

“Yeah?” Kaner says, still grinning.

His strokes, dry and quick, burn in a way that has Jonny moaning. He should stop him, insist on lube. His dick is going to be so fucking tender but. Fuck. Kaner thumbs the head of his cock.

“Yeah?” Kaner says, again.

“Fuck, Kaner,” Jonny replies. “Yeah.”

Kaner picks up speed, stripping him until Jonny’s panting and shooting off all over his fist. Jonny closes his eyes and waits for his breathing to even out. Shit. It takes a moment.

When he’s under control and opening his eyes again, Kaner is at the sink rinsing his hand. Jonny’s eyes catch on where’s he’s tenting the front of his dress pants. Jonny expects him to come back, so Jonny can reciprocate, but, instead, Kaner picks up his phone.

“Kaner,” Jonny says, and pats weakly at the tile beside him.

Kaner shoots him a small half-smirk. “I’ve gotta get back to the hotel and into to bed, Jonny. But you definitely owe me.”

~~~

**Monday, January 20, 2020 5:15PM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

Pat wakes up to a dark hotel room and rolls over, itchy with the feeling that he is not supposed to be sleeping right now. He has no idea where he is or what time it is or if he’s overslept. He grabs his phone.

It’s 5:15PM and he’s got about a dozen messages and three missed calls. Oh right. The fucking All-Star Game. Most of the messages are from a group chat that fucking Crosby started, trying to organize some sort of pre-game outing with the goddamn who’s who of the NHL.

He’s got a couple voicemails and he listens to them as he gets ready for the evening, while he’s changing and brushing his teeth. The last catches him off guard. It’s his attorney, calling to say that the judgment came through today--he’s officially divorced. He hadn’t thought much about it since signing the papers back in August. Like, he’d actually been able to let it all go after that, but, fuck, yeah. Now it’s really,  _really_ over.

Holy shit.

There’s a knock on his door. It’s Jonny, in a tuxedo. He looks relaxed, his face open and his smile easy. “Kaner!”

He goes in for the hug. And Pat’s totally cool with that because it’s been ages, so he squeezes tight as shit, so tight that Jonny winces and says, “Okay. Let’s go.”

As they ride down the elevator together, Jonny asks, “Ready to be ToewsandKane, again?”

Pat laughs and hipchecks him, gently, because, “Jonny, man, it was always KaneandToews, don’t kid yourself.”

Jonny looks at him, eyes dark, mouth a thin line, and Pat knows Jonny’s so fucking happy right now.

The first question of the presser is, of course, “Are you guys looking forward to playing together again?”

Pat answers because the answer is easy, right on the tip of his tongue, “Yeah, I mean. Jonny and I love to play together. We had some really great seasons playing together for the Hawks and I definitely miss it sometimes. But, uh, what’s hard is going to be co-captaining. Jonny’s pretty bossy, I remember, and he doesn’t share power well.”

The guy follows up with, “What about you, Jonny?”

“Well, you know, it’s always better if, when you’re out on the ice, Kaner’s on your team. He’s dangerous, so you want to keep him close, like, preferably, on your line.” Jonny’s pointedly not-smiling when he says it. And It’s totally Jonny’s joking voice, but, also, he kind of sounds like he’s being completely sincere and Pat suddenly  _does_  miss playing with him so fucking much.

The game’s in Chicago this year, which is  _awe_ some, because Pat really fucking misses this city sometimes, but it means that his and Jonny’s co-captaincy is an even bigger-ass deal to the press.

Someone asks, “You guys stayed pretty good friends, after Kane left for Buffalo?”

Jonny nods and the reporter says, “Can you say a little bit about that?”

Jonny shrugs and laughs, “I don’t know. It’s not like we call each other every night or anything, but we’re friends. You know, you don’t come in as rookies with someone, room with them on the road for five years, win two cups with them, and then just stop caring about them.”

Pat’s heart clenches because he remembers. He remembers Jonny’s face when he told him he’d signed with the Sabres. They’d been fucking Skyping. But Jonny’s eyes and the way his whole body went completely still for, like, thirty of the shittiest seconds of Pat’s life- that had almost made him run to Brisson to try to figure out how to unsign, to go home to Chicago and to Jonny.

The reporter is looking at Pat now and so’s Jonny. Pat can feel all their years of banter lying thick between them. He knows he’s supposed to waggle his eyebrows and say something to ‘get under Jonny’s skin.’ Talk about how he’s not a very good player or a very good friend, but Pat still tolerates him out of pity or something.

He says, “Yeah. Jonny and I are still best friends, I’d say. He’s my daughter Avery’s godfather. He bought her first pair of skates and we took her skating together for her first time, a few summers ago.”  

The room is quiet for a second and so Pat continues, “And that’s lucky for him, cause he’s sure as hell not popping any kids out anytime soon, not with that ugly face, not even his girlfriend wants to bring any little Jonnys into the world.”

Jonny punches him in the shoulder and the questions turn back to hockey.

~~~

They’re lying on Jonny’s bed, him and Jonny and Duncs, passing around a bottle of really excellent Scotch. Pat’s toes are tingling and, sure, he’s drunk, but he’s not that drunk. Jonny’s lying across his legs, so maybe that has something to do with it. But Pat wants to think it’s something else. Because the moment, the room, the people, it all feels, like,  _holy_  or some shit.

Jonny says, quiet and soft, “It’s like nothing’s changed.”

Pat lets himself revel in that, for a moment, lets himself be back in June 2010 or maybe June 2013, but it doesn’t last. Because fucking everything’s changed.

Duncs kicks Jonny. “Jonny. Let’s be honest here, you’re in some deep shit.”

Pat sits up on his elbows and takes another swallow of Scotch. He’s not sure what the hell Duncs is talking about, so he looks at Jonny.

“It’s not a big deal, Duncs. I’m going to do it, when I’m ready.”

Duncs snorts. “That’ll be when? Oh, I remember what you said, after you’ve reached the pinnacle of your career, then you can focus on something else. But that’ll be... once we’ve won another cup? And you win the Conn Smythe? And the Hart? And a half a dozen golds? When, Jonny? After you’ve single-handedly figured out how to install a hockey rink in hell?”

“Yeah, Jonny,” Pat says. Because it sounds serious and Duncs could use the support.

“Fuck you, Duncs. And, Pat, you’re a bastard and a traitor. I thought you were behind me on this.”

Pat laughs. He still has the bottle of scotch, so he might as well take another sip. Wiping his mouth of with the back of his hand, he says, “I’m always behind you, baby.”

Speaking of baby. Pat pulls out his phone. He wants to show them this picture of Avery getting ready for her skating competition. He’s sure they’ll love it.

Duncs says, “I’m not fucking around here, Jonny. You’ve got to propose to your girl. She told Kelly that she’s tired of waiting.”

Jonny rolls off Pat and gets right in Duncs’ face. “She can fucking tell me next time. Not send you to do the dirty work.” He grabs Duncs shoulders and shakes him. “You’re my fucking friend first, not hers, you asshole.”

Pat thinks Jonny has a point here. He’d be pretty damn pissed if Gracie ever... He rolls off the bed and onto the floor. Holy shit. Gracie.

Jonny’s head appears over the side of the bed. “You okay, Kaner?”

“Fuck,” Pat says. And then, “Gracie.”

Duncs says, “You two are the most dysfunctional shitheads I have ever known. That much has not changed, at least.” He rises and moves toward the door. “I’ve got to go to work tomorrow. So I’m out. I’ll leave the whiskey but it sure as shit doesn’t look like you boys should be drinking anymore.” Goddamnit. Duncs is such a judgmental fucker.

Pat sits up and says, “It’s Scotch.” But Duncs is gone. Jonny takes a swig and then hands him the bottle.

“What about Gracie?” Jonny asks.

Pat blinks up at him. “Fuck her. Don’t ever get fucking married, Jonny. That shit is fucked up.” He takes another drink.

Jonny falls back on the bed. “Duncs is right, though. Ashley’s been waiting for a ring for, probably, a whole fucking year. It’s about time. But, fuck, I just don’t know if that’s what I want, yet. You know, to be someone’s husband.”

“Yeah,” Pat says. “Don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it.” He gets up and arranges himself on the bed next to Jonny. Jonny’s on his back, wearing only his boxerbriefs, and Pat rolls onto his side, so he can watch him. Jonny’s got his eyes closed and his arms folded across his abs. Pat picks up one of Jonny’s hands and press it between his own. Jonny shivers and his eyes open.

“I thought you and Gracie had a good thing? I thought you liked marriage.”

Pat traces the calluses on Jonny’s palm. “I liked that she spent her summers who the fuck knows where, so I didn’t have to see her or talk to her or share Avery with her.”

Jonny watches him. “What?”

Pat sighs and flops onto his back, keeping hold of Jonny’s hand and pulling it to rest with his own on top of his stomach. “We haven’t spoken, except about the divorce papers in over nine months. At the end of last summer, she didn’t come home and I didn’t want her to.”

Pat can barely believe that he’s finally telling Jonny this. He’s been sort of hiding it from him for ages and now it’s all out there, between them. He’s ready for Jonny to start yelling judgments and directives about how to fix this shit, any goddamn second.

But instead, Jonny turns and curls himself around Pat, draping a leg over him and placing his face close against Pat’s neck, nose brushing his ear. Pat finds himself relaxing into it.

The whole thing feels dangerously close to cuddling, like the kind of cuddling he’s really only ever done with Gracie. And Gracie was soft and clingy, always making Pat feel strong and needed. Jonny is solid, hard and hot, securing Pat in himself, in them.

“It sucks, Jonny,” Pat says. “It really sucks. Don’t get married.”

Jonny nods into his neck. “Okay, Kaner. I wasn’t really planning on it, anyway.”

~~~

 

**Game Five: Monday, June 19, 2023 9:30PM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

At the start of the second period, Jonny’s sure it’s over: the season, the series, and, maybe, his whole fucking career. They’re down 2-1 and the Buffalo crowd is fucking nuts.

Coach pulled Jonny aside, right before he went out on the ice, and just  _looked_ at him. And, yeah, this is it. He’s got to galvanize his boys to turn this around or it’s all for shit.

He faces off against Kaner, who waggles his eyebrows at Jonny, but doesn’t say anything. Jonny wins the draw with a sweep of his stick, clean and effortless. And his point man has it and they’re moving down the ice, as the fivesome they’re supposed to be.

The puck is chipped ahead, sliding into the boards and Jonny speeds toward it. Just as he gets hold of it with the tip of his stick, a big blue body checks him into the glass, bad-side first.

The pain is blinding and Jonny collapses to the ice. He clutches at his shoulder, tries to move it. But, fuck. Play’s continued. He needs to get the hell off the ice.

He stands and the movement jostles his arm, so that he has to close his eyes against a wave of nausea. Breathing deeply, he skates over to the bench and the trainer meets him at the gate. She shakes her head at Jonny.

“You’re not going back out there tonight, Toews,” she says.

He grits out, “You haven’t even looked at it. If you just...”

She laughs as they walk into one of medical offices and replies, “I’m not sure we’d be able to get the balance of pain drugs such that you could lift your stick and also not be passed out on a hospital bed. Can you lift of up your arm? We've got to get you out of this jersey.”

Another trainer joins them. “Toews, that looked awful. Dimsy was definitely targeting your shoulder with that hit. That’s clear from the tape.”

“I’m pretty sure I just dislocated it,” Jonny says. “I’ll be back out there.”

A poster of a skeleton playing hockey is taped to the wall in front of him and Jonny focuses on it, pointedly not thinking about his team out on the ice, fighting elimination without him. He’s been a failure of a captain these last few games.  _Fuck._

After a few minutes they’ve reached a verdict. “Yes,” the primary trainer says, popping his shoulder back into its socket. “You definitely dislocated it. Now try to lift it. Let’s see your range of movement.”

She moves Jonny’s arm through a series of motions and he tries his fucking hardest to keep his face blank. After a second, she says, “You need to let me know what hurts. Don’t hide it from me, Jonny. You’re going to make things worse.”

When she crosses his arm over his chest, he can’t help it, he winces. “We’ll need an X-ray. I’m pretty sure you worsened the tear.”

Duncs knocks on the door and pokes his head in. “Hey, Jonny?”

The trainer smiles at him. “Duncan. Jonny’s probably not coming back out tonight. You want to let the coaching staff know?”

Duncs eyes narrow. ”I’m gonna kill that fucker.” And Jonny doesn’t say anything, because he also wants to kill the asshole Buffalo defenseman who knocked him out of the game. And then he says, “It’s 2-2. We’re gonna win this next period for you, Jonny. You can be sure as shit of that.”

~~~

And they do win. Jonny watches them from locker room hating every minute of it. But his heart lifts when his linemates score the game winning goal.

He does some press, to reassure everyone that he’s not dead and that he’ll be playing in the next game, as long as he gets the go ahead from his trainers. And it’s the finals, so that’s almost a fucking no brainer. Even if he can barely lift his arm, he's getting the fuck back out there. 

After he’s changed into his suit, he has to go back toward the medical offices, to talk with them about his x-rays. As he heads over, he sees Avery, with Kaner behind her, coming down the hall from the opposite direction.

Avery runs up to him and stops abruptly, just a couple inches in front of him. “Dad says you might be very hurt and I have to ask if I can hug you, Uncle Jonny. I really want to hug you.” She’s wearing Kaner’s jersey, probably one of his actual jerseys, with a ribbon around her waist, like it’s a dress. Even with the sleeves rolled up, it dwarfs her.

“You can hug me, Angel,” he says and squats to warp his good arm around her. She winds her arms around his waist and squeezes, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Uncle Jonny, I was very scared when you fell down.” Her face is pink and drawn. She looks tired and Jonny realizes that it must be way past her bedtime.

“My mom said she didn’t stop crying for ten minutes,” Kaner says, his face just as pink and drawn as his daughter’s. He’s got a black eye and a split lip.

“Did you get into a fight?” Jonny asks. He must’ve, while Jonny was first in with the trainer.

Kaner smirks. “No,” he says.

“Yes, you did, Dad. You got beat up really bad,” Avery says, untangling from Jonny to throw her arms around her Kaner. “I cried, then, too. He just kept hitting you!”

“What? Who? What did you do?” Jonny tries to catch Kaner’s eye, but he’s petting Avery’s hair.

“I’m fine, baby girl, he wasn’t going to hurt me too bad,” Kaner tells her.

“Kaner, what happened?”

Kaner sighs, still not looking up. “Duncs. I think he thought I must’ve told the team about your shoulder. I didn’t. It’s obvious, though, from game tape and to anyone who knows anything about your history.”

Jonny nods. “I trust you. Sorry about Duncs. We’re all feeling a little desperate.”

Kaner smiles and moves forward, closer to Jonny, Avery scrambling around between them. He grabs the top of Jonny’s head and brings their foreheads together gently. “Are you okay?” He murmurs. “I was pretty fuckin’ worried, too. Are you going to come out of this, Jonny?”

Jonny bites his lip and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. If he were five years younger, maybe. Kaner licks his lips. His eyes look sad.

Avery’s squirms against Kaner and says, “Da-ad,” at the same moment as the trainer opens the door to medical office.

They break apart quickly enough that Jonny guesses the trainer won’t have seen their  _moment_.

The trainer glares at Kaner. “Mr. Kane, you really shouldn’t be over here. Do you need something from this office?”

Kaner shakes his head and flashes the woman a dimpled smile. He pushes Avery toward her and says, “My daughter just wanted to make sure her favorite Hawk was still alive.”

Avery wrests free from his hold to turn and look at him. “You wanted to come back here, too, Dad. It was  _your_ idea.”

Kaner coughs and Jonny’s throat feels tight. The trainer’s glaring harder than ever. “Well, he’s fine, see. Go tell your teammates he’ll probably be back in the line-up.”

Kaner nods and hurries away.

Jonny turns to her, allowing himself to smile hopefully. “Yeah?”

“No,” she says, sternly. “You probably will not be back on the ice, not this year. Get into this office and let’s talk about what’s happening with your shoulder.”

~~~

 

**Saturday, July 16, 2022 8AM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

Pat walks into the kitchen to find Avery kneeling on the counter whisking eggs. She sees Pat and drops the whisk into the bowl. Arms flying into the air, she says, “Da-ad, I’m making breakfast.”

“Avery,” Pat says, scratching his chin. They’ve talked about her climbing on the counters unsupervised. It’s a no-no, a timeout-worthy behavior.

“Da-ad,” she taunts back and picks up the now egg covered whisk to begin stirring again.

“Good morning, Kaner.” Jonny appears in the stairway to the basement with a package of frozen sausages. He’s wearing only his boxer briefs. “We’re just getting started with breakfast. Avery’s awesome. She knows where everything is and how to cook shit.”

Avery giggles. “Aunt Erica says ‘shit’ means poop. You don’t cook poop.” She giggles some more. “That’s so yucky.”

Pat sighs. He pops a hazelnut pouch into his Keurig. When he turns around, Jonny’s bent over, digging through his pots and pans under the stove.

Pat and Jess have had lots of “conversations” about the amount of exposure Avery gets to nearly naked men, but, like, it’s not sexual exposure, so Pat’s not going to worry about it.

Except, right now, as Pat’s eyes catch on the tan arch of Jonny’s back and the exaggerated curve of his ass, all the bare skin feels downright pornographic.

Pat walks over to Avery who is using the whisk to glomp big drops of egg onto the countertop. He watches as she sticks her fingers into the yellow-y mess and draw a face. “Look, Dad. It’s you!”

“Alright, baby girl.” Pat takes the whisk from her and places it in the sink. Then, he grabs her around the middle and sets her on the ground. Smacking her butt, he says, “Go wash your hands and get ready for practice.”

Avery dashes out of the room and Pat knows he should follow her into the bathroom to make sure she actually washes up, but Jonny’s naked back is right there. He moves in close, tucking his chin on Jonny’s shoulder.

“Scrambled?” He asks. “Why not omelets?”

Jonny dumps a bowl of chopped onions and peppers into the pan with the eggs. He’s got the sausages frying on another burner. “Avery only knows how to scramble them. She’s not too bright.”

Pat pinches Jonny’s ass and says, “Don’t insult my daughter, fucker. She’s a genius.”

Jonny rubs at his bottom. “Oh my god, Pat. It was obviously a joke. I do not know any other seven year olds who know what to do with a whisk. She’s amazing.”

Pat swipes a paper towel over the counter where Avery had been playing in the egg juice. “Just so we’re clear about that. And, like, how many other seven year olds do you know, really?”

Pat throws the towel away and turns to Jonny again. The lines of his back are really fucking distracting this morning. Pat allows himself to enjoy view, the smooth pull and flex of muscle, just for a moment, and to wish things were different between them.  

He places a hand on Jonny’s shoulder and Jonny winces.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s still bothering me a bit, after the surgery.”

Pat frowns. “You haven’t been lifting too much, have you? Or doing things that might re-injure it?”

The surgery Jonny’d had in May is supposed to put him out for four months, at least, and he does not need to lengthen that. Pat knows he wants to be healthy, he needs to be healthy, for training camp.

“You’re not my fucking doctor, Pat. So leave it,” Jonny bites out.

“What-the-fuck-ever, man. I just don’t want you to get any worse. Why don’t you let me take over and go put some clothes on? Avery has to be at practice in forty-five minutes.”

Jonny doesn’t reply. He just storms out of the kitchen, like Patrick’s has mistreated him or some shit. Which he hasn’t, clearly.

The food is already mostly done and Pat makes himself a plate. He eats it quickly, taking big gulps of coffee. He’s finishing his last bite of sausage when Avery bops into the kitchen.

“I’m a bunny rabbit, Dad,” she says. She’s wearing her white leotard and black tights.

“I see, baby girl. Can you  _hop_  up onto the stool for a bunny breakfast?”

She makes several attempts at trying to jump onto the stool, before finally climbing up it. Pat sets a plate of eggs and sausage and a glass of apple juice down in front of her.  

“Can you try to sit still as possible while you eat, so I can put your hair up?” Pat asks and Avery nods so violently that some of her hair gets in her eggs.

Pat grabs the brush out of the bathroom and runs it carefully through her curls, to untangle last night’s knots. He unwinds a pink elastic tie from the bottom of the brush and holds it between his fingers as he gathers her hair up into a pony. She leans forward to grab her juice and he’s quick to follow her, so it doesn’t pull.

Jonny walks in wearing one of Pat’s Sabres shirts and goes directly to the stove to fill up a plate. The shirt’s got an 88 on the sleeve and Pat’s heart rate spikes. He licks his lips and says, “Fine, don’t ask to borrow my clothes. Wear whatever you’d like.”

Jonny sits beside Avery at the counter. “I need to do a load of laundry. And, um, I’m sorry for earlier. It’s kind of, um, a sore spot.”

Pat laughs and starts to rinse off dishes and load them into the dishwasher. “I got that. I didn’t mean to push. I just worry about you, man.”

“Well, don’t, Kaner. It’s not really... Just, you don’t have to worry about me,” Jonny says through a mouthful of egg.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Uncle Jonny. It’s rude. Unless you are bunny, like me. Bunnies don’t have to have good manners.” She hops down from the stool and over the fridge and then back to the stool and then over to Jonny. “See? Are you a bunny, too?”

Jonny laughs. “Nope, Angel, just a guy.”

“Avery, brush your teeth and then it’s time to go,” Pat says. Avery hops to the bathroom.

“Okay, hoppity hop hop!”

~~~

When they get to practice, Jonny doesn’t move to get out the car. As Pat unbuckles Avery from the carseat, he pulls out his phone and starts going through email.

“Are you coming?” Pat asks, a little irritated because he’d just said they were going to be late. Avery’s got to have her skates on and be out on the ice in five minutes.

Jonny looks up from his phone. “Wouldn’t that be weird? Like me coming to help you drop off your daughter? You’ll be back out, pretty quick, eh?” He rubs at his shoulder.

Pat says, “Come on, Jonny. Avery wants you to meet her friends and her teacher and stuff. We can watch her skate for a bit and then go grab a coffee or something.”

Jonny raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure it’s not weird?”

“Come on, Uncle Jonny!” Avery calls from where she’s already standing, by the doors to the rink.

“Come on, Uncle Jonny!” Pat mimics and Jonny unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car.

Unfortunately, by the time they get inside, the instructor and most of the kids are already out on the ice, so they don’t actually get to meet anyone.

“After practice,” Pat promises Avery. She crosses her arms, sticks out her bottom lip and stomps a skated foot. “That makes me very mad, Dad.”

“Avery,” he says. And she turns away from him and goes out on the ice. He makes sure to watch her for a moment because he knows this routine. And, just like he expects, as soon as she’s in line with the other kids to stretch, she turns to look at him, eyes wide and biting her lip.

He smiles and gives her a big thumbs up. She grins back. He turns and Jonny’s watching him with a fond half smile.

“She’s got you so wrapped around her finger, Kaner,” he says.

“I love her,” Pat replies.

It’s usually the same families around the rink before Avery’s practice and Pat rarely gets bothered to sign stuff or take pictures. He didn’t think about bringing Jonny into that, but they only get stopped by one couple who are sort of friends of Pat’s because they also jump and scream to cheer on their girls at competitions.

They climb back into the car. Pat starts to drive towards his favorite diner. He says, “Are you going to renew your contract?”

Which was not a conversation he planned on having. He really didn’t deserve to, not with the way he’d treated Jonny when he’d been trying to make the hard decisions. But that was years ago, now, and he’s aching to know Jonny’s plans.

Jonny shifts in his seat to stretch his back. After a moment, he says, “It depends on how everything goes with my recovery. This is the third surgery in five years. And, last year, it felt like my shoulder was going out on me, every third game or so.”

Pat nods. Fuck. That’s worse than he thought. He knew about the surgeries, sure, but he hadn’t realized Jonny been having that many problems outside of them. “What do the doctors say? Are you going to come out of it?”

Jonny’s quiet, as Pat pulls into a parking spot in the alley behind the restaurant.

“Well?” Pat prompts, trying to meet his gaze.

Jonny’s mouth turns down. Looking out the window at a dumpster, not at Pat, Jonny shakes his head and says, “They don’t know.”

Pat reaches out to Jonny, trying to hug him over the console between them. He ends up sort of gripping Jonny’s arms. When he tries to pull away, Jonny wraps himself more fully around Pat, holding him tightly. The console digs into his stomach, but Jonny smells so good and, fuck, he’s missed having him this close.

Jonny shifts and his nose bumps Pat’s. And then his hands are in Pat’s hair and they’re kissing.

It’s wet and fast. He forgot how fucking wet Jonny’s kisses can be. He bites at Jonny’s lips, not too hard. And Jonny’s fingers dig into his scalp.

They keep on like that, nipping and scratching at each other until Pat realizes he’s making out in the front seat of a car with a really fucking uncomfortable piece of plastic bruising his belly. And he’s hard as hell.

He pulls back, to look at Jonny, who’s blinking at him, eyes dark and lips swollen. And, fuck, Pat knows that this is it. This is it for him. It’s Jonny and Avery and breakfast and being late to figure skating practice. This is the best, better than winning the Cup.  _This_  is the most perfect morning of his life, right here, right now.

Not that he doesn’t want another Cup. He does, but he’d rather have Jonny.

Jonny closes his eyes and swallows. “I’m sorry, Pat.”

“Why the fuck are you sorry? That was fucking hot.” Pat doesn’t want to give it away, not yet, not until he knows Jonny feels the same. But Pat thinks he does. He thinks, maybe, he has all along.

Jonny looks away from him, expression sour. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m just pretty upset right now, about my shoulder.”

Pat looks at the clock. They really don’t have time to go into the diner. They never did.

“You felt angry about your shoulder, so you made out with me in the front seat of my car for ten minutes. That makes sense, man.”

Jonny shrugs, still not looking at him. And Pat lets it go. They have time. Pat knows how to be patient.

~~~

 

**Game Six: Thursday, June 22, 2023 10:45PM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

They put Jonny up in the press box to watch the game. They’re at the UC and the crowd is helping the guys out, really feeding their defensive play.

Jonny calculates that they’re losing significantly more than half their draws. And their puck possession is fucking terrible. But, they’re getting a lot of hits without taking penalties, so that’s something. And it’s tied. At zero.

It stays that way for 50 minutes. 55 minutes. 57 minutes. This is fucking insane. Jonny has no idea how Conners is doing it, but he’s stopped close to twice as many shots as his Sabre’s counterpart.

But now, Kaner’s got the puck and there’s a hole in his coverage. Jonny's stomach drops. He sees the play before it happens. He knows that Conners is gonna go low and Kaner’s gonna strike high. If he was on the ice he would be able to...

But he’s not on the ice. And Kaner puts it top shelf. The goal horn sounds and Jonny knows the game is over. There’s two minutes left and, if he was on the bench he’d have to believe otherwise but here, far above in the box, he can admit it. Kaner’s won it for his team. Again.

Jonny moves quickly. Coach told him to come out onto the ice, for handshakes, but not to bother changing. As he passes through the line, Jonny makes sure to congratulate the Sabres with as much of a smile as he can muster. It’s strange, with all the other guys in their gear. Jonny feels naked and out of place in his suit. He feels like a coach, a front office guy, not a player.

Dimsy, the guy who took him out, leans in and says, “I sorry. Avery kick very hard my balls for you.”  

Jonny laughs and nods. “Good. You deserved it,” he replies, drawing a chuckle from the other man.

Pat pulls Jonny in close and it’s stranger than ever, without his pads. Into his ear, so no one but Jonny hears, Pat says, “I scored for you, like I promised. But, fuck, man, it’s way more fun to do this  _with_ you. The others times, when you were out there feeding me, those were better.”

Jonny's throat feels dry and tight. And fuck if his eyes don’t feel watery. He manages to get out, “You’re the fucking best.” He wants to say more, but he’s holding up the line, so he moves on with a sharp nod.

Duncs does a quick postgame interview, as he’s worn the ‘C’ after all. He’s not very gracious about it, just repeating “You never want to lose, not like this.” And, “I think we played a great defensive game. They only got in the one puck.”

Jonny watches as some of the younger guys make plans to go out. They don’t invite him. They’re always forgetting he’s still single, too, but he doesn’t really want to go, so it’s fine. Tomorrow they’ll do something official, with the whole team, after they clear out the locker room.

He makes his rounds, but the words come out all wrong.  _Fuck_. He aches to have been out there.

~~~

He sprawls out on his couch, later, and finds the game on his TiVo. He skips to the end, to Kaner’s goal. His celly is dirty and disgraceful, typical Kaner. Yet, as he rises to his feet, and looks around the ice at his teammates, his eyes do look sad. The network shows a couple of videos of past cellies he’s done. In two of the three others, Jonny’s there, on the ice with him, collapsing all over him.

Jonny presses pause and picks up his phone. He flips idly through the consolation texts he’s been getting, until he sees, about twenty minutes ago, Kaner’s texted:  _im comin baby im comin_

What the hell. He texts:  _what the fuck_

And then:  _beauty of a goal_

He doesn’t expect Kaner to text back. He should be at the hotel or maybe on the bus, drunk as shit with his boys. So Jonny smiles with surprise when his phone lights up almost immediately.

_thdnew dormna wny let mr on_

The text makes no sense, so Jonny ignores it in favor of flipping through his On Demand listings.

Then, Kaner’s calling him and, really, the last thing he wants is pity laden drunk dial. He answers, anyway. Of course, he does. “Kaner?”

“Jonny,” he begins.  He does not sound happy. “I don’t like this, man. Fuck the police.”

Jonny considers these statements for a moment and they still makes no sense. “Kaner, you’re wasted, which is great, awesome for you. Call me in a week or so, when you’ve sobered up.”

“Jonny, you asshole, this fucker thinks I’m crazy.”

“Goodnight, Kaner,” Jonny says.

“Fuck, Jonny, I need you--”

Jonny hangs up.

He decides on the Simpsons. His phone rings again. It’s the front desk.

“Jonathan Toews,” he answers.

“Hi, Mr. Toews,” he hears. “It’s Brenda, from security. I’ve got a Mr. Patrick Kane here, says he plays hockey with you. We’re having difficulty getting him to leave the premises. I really don’t want to involve the police, but I will if he’s giving you trouble.”

“Wait, oh my god, sorry, Brenda. I didn’t realize he was down there. I’ll come get him.”

“Jonny,” he hears Kaner shout. “We need to talk, Jonny.”

Brenda says, “I think he can make it up to your apartment on his own.”

Jonny scratches his chin. He needs to shave before going in tomorrow.

He should tell Brenda to call a cab and have it take Kaner back to wherever the hell he’s supposed to be. “Okay,” he says. “Send him up.”

When he gets in, Kaner goes straight for the couch. Jonny sits down, making sure there’s several feet between them.

Kaner tangles their fingers together and squeezes. He smiles at Jonny, his bitterness at Brenda apparently already forgotten. Jonny looks at his hand in Kaner’s. He says, “What are you doing here, Kaner? Shouldn't you be with your team, like on a plane, maybe?”

Kaner’s dimples are showing and he scoots closer to Jonny. “Plane's not leaving yet. And I’m done waiting. It’s time.”

Jonny does not flinch away, but it’s a near thing. Kaner smells like a barroom floor, more particularly, like a barroom floor that someone has puked on.

“You are so fucking drunk. We need to get you back to the Sabres.” He makes to stand up, but Kaner’s nails bite into the back of his hand.

“Jonny.”

Jonny tilts his head. “Patrick.”

“We should have sex,” Kaner says, eyes looking large and serious.

“Nice, okay, definitely not.”

Kaner half tackles him, sending a pinching pain through his shoulder and up into his neck. “Oh my god, Kaner. Stop.”

“I want you,” Kaner says and begins to press sloppy kisses down Jonny’s neck and across his bare chest. It’s not hot. Or it shouldn’t be. Fuck.

Jonny slips his hands into Kaner’s hair and pulls him back. “Hey, I’m just. Kaner, I don’t want-- well, no, I’m not going to have a drunken one night stand with you, as much as you may think your dick deserves to get sucked right now.”

Kaner grins. “Yeah, that’s fuck, Jonny.”

He’s laughing, now. Which, he must be so fucking drunk because he appears to be happy that Jonny just rejected him. Champagne does strange things to his mood, Jonny knows. But Jonny also wonders if maybe he’s remembering that night, after lifting the cup for the first time, when he’d complained that his dick was not getting the treatment it had earned. And Jonny had gotten down on his knees and fixed that problem, real quick.  

Jonny’s hands are still in Kaner’s hair. “I mean it, Kaner. We’re not going to have sex right now.”

Kaner kisses him, soft and short. He really fucking smells. “Maybe later? Maybe always? In Buffalo? With Avery?”

Jonny stands, “Okay. You just invited me to a threesome with your eight year old daughter. I’m going to get you water and some ibuprofen.”

He finds Kaner a few minutes later, shoeless and shirtless, passed out face down on his bed. He shakes him back awake and hands him a water bottle. “Drink,” he says.

Kaner obliges, spilling a lot down his chest and onto Jonny’s sheets. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and blinks up at Jonny. “I’m really serious about this,” he says.

Jonny nods. “I trust you.”

Kaner closes his eyes. His team must be looking for him and, for half a second, Jonny feels responsible, like maybe he should be bodily dragging Kaner to the airport so he doesn't miss his flight. 

But, fuck, Kaner's an adult. And Jonny likes having him in his bed, even drunk as shit. 

~~~

**Sunday, January 15, 2023 5PM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

Pat bails on the team after the game, being honest, for once, about how he’s got some Chicago people he wants to shoot the shit with for the evening.

And by ‘some Chicago people’ he means Jonny.

Jonny’d agreed to cook dinner for him, though, when he arrives at Jonny’s condo, he discovers that by ‘cook’ Jonny meant ‘order in,’ which is cool too. He just misses him, is all, and he wants them to spend some time together. Maybe naked. That would be awesome.

Pat wanders the condo while Jonny dishes up the Chinese in the kitchen. In the living room, Jonny’s got a golf match on the TV and his laptop is open to a spreadsheet that looks like maybe it’s his spending budget.

Boring. This is why Jonny needs him and Avery. He’s been trying to drop hints for Jonny about their epic destiny together since summertime, but he’s dense as fuck. And totally not getting board.

But tonight. Tonight, Pat’s going to get laid, as in laid out on Jonny’s dick.

Jonny brings in the food. “What do you want to drink? Beer? Water? Gatorade?”

Pat shows him the water bottle he’d grabbed when he’d first came in. “I’m good.”

They sit down on the couch and eat without talking. Pat reads the captions narrating the golf tournament.

“You played well this afternoon,” Jonny says, and they both know it’s not even a stretch of the truth. It’s a flat out lie. Because Pat played like shit. He was fucking distracted thinking about this. About Jonny. About propositioning Jonny, finally alone and mostly sober.

Pat shakes his head at Jonny, attempting to communicate disappointed disbelief. “Don’t even try,” he says.  

“Okay, Kaner,” Jonny says. “You played like shit today. Why the hell were you playing so shitty?”

The bitterness in his voice makes Pat smile. Pat likes to think Jonny wants to see him play well, even when they’re playing against each other. It’s nice. And hopeful.

“You really want to talk about who played shitty today and why?” Pat counters. It’s weak.

Because: “Fuck you, that was maybe my best game in weeks. Seriously, Kaner. You’ve been playing really well lately. Like, they’re talking about you for the Hart, fucking finally. What happened tonight?”

Pat shrugs. “Spent last night with Sharpy and his family.”

Through his noodles, Jonny says, “Why do they even rent you a room?”

“And I was talking with Maddie a little about her school. And boys. I just. I started thinking more about the future.” He takes a bite of egg roll. It’s a pretty shitty egg roll and Pat wonders how Jonny can have lived in one city for 16 years and still not know where to go for decent Chinese.

Jonny keeps his face straight and says, mildly, “Talking with Sharpy’s pre-teen about her crushes got you to thinking about your future so intently that you blew a game.”

Pat takes another bite of food. That does sound pretty fucking stupid. Still, it’s kind of true. “Like, I was thinking about Avery and what’s going to happen to her. Who’s she going to talk to about her crushes?”

Jonny sets his plate down. It’s empty. He eats so fucking fast. “Let me see,” he says and proceeds to count on his fingers. “You, your mom, her aunts, me, any number of your besotted teammates,  _her friends like a normal person_. I’d say you’re covered in the confidant department.”

Pat doesn’t reply. Jonny runs a hand through his hair. “This is what threw you off? Really?”

Pat finishes his egg roll with Jonny watching him. “Kind of, yeah.”

Jonny crosses his arms and sits back, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. Pat takes a swig of water and clears his throat. He goes back to watching golf.

Tiger Woods is leading. Golfers are old, Pat thinks. They can be way older than hockey players.

“I was also thinking about you,” Pat says. And, wow, dinner’s not even cleared yet. He is moving quickly apparently.

Jonny raises an eyebrow. “About my two goals? About my pipe dream of getting a hat trick against the top ranked team in the Eastern Conference? Cause I sure as shit was trying  _not_  to think about those things.”

Pat chuckles. “Tiger Woods is getting pretty old,” he says.

Jonny nods, “I guess, but lots of golfers play well into their sixties.”

“Not really hockey players, though,” Pat says.

Jonny turns to him, sharply. “I haven’t made any decision yet, Kaner. But, I don’t know. I kind of want to keep playing.” He looks away again.

Pat puts a hand on his knee. “Yeah? You think your shoulder will hold out?”

Jonny swallows, still looking away, out the window. “Pat. Hockey is it for me. It’s literally all I have. I have to keep playing. Sharpy always talked about spending more time with his kids, traveling, learning to play music.” Jonny laughs, but he looks like he’s about to cry. “About how he couldn’t wait to be able to have sex with Abby every goddamn night, about how he was done sleeping alone.”

Finally, he meets Pat’s eye. “I don’t have any of that to look forward to. And, well, he keeps telling me that maybe I’ll meet people, once I get out, you know? But hockey, the team, that’s my life. That’s it.”

Pat squeezes his knee and leans toward him. “Jonny, that’s not--”

“Fuck off, Kaner. You have no idea. You have Avery. And you’re not done with hockey. Shit, you’re better than ever.” He runs his hands through his hair.

“Okay, keep playing. Sounds like you’ve made your decision, then,” Pat says, but he’s disappointed, angry even. He wanted Jonny to be done, to be ready to come and be with him and Avery out in Buffalo. And, after listening to Jonny talk about what might be the end for him, Pat feels super shitty about wanting that and even shittier that he still doesn’t want it any less.

Jonny’s watching him again. Pat takes another drink of water. So does Jonny.

“Jonny,” Pat begins. “I want--” He decides, fuck it, and leans forward to kiss him.

But before Pat can properly complete the act, Jonny pulls back, looking confused. He doesn’t say anything, though, just stands and starts to clear their plates.

Pat’s game is clearly off. He thought this one would be in the bag.

While Jonny’s in the kitchen, Pat’s phone goes off. It’s Jess.

“What’s up, Jess?” He asks, already knowing it’s got to be Avery.

“She’s crying, Pat. She refuses to go to sleep. I am not doing this again. If Mom’s out of town when you go on a road trip, you’re sending her to Erica or hiring a sitter,” Jess tells him, sounding pissed.

“Maybe if you were nice to her, Jess,” Pat says.

“Oh fuck you, Pat. I am nice to her. I think you’re too nice to her.”

Pat says, “Maybe I can video chat with her for a while.”

Jess sighs. “That’s what I was hoping, but I feel like it might be giving in to this kind of behavior.”

Pat opens a video chat app on Jonny’s computer and signs himself in. “Jess, when I’m on the road, we usually talk every day at least once. I didn’t think I’d have a chance tonight, hot date and all that, but looks like that’s a no go.”

Jess laughs. Pat knows she likes Jonny, mostly, and would love them to be a thing. Probably because she thinks Jonny would be a good disciplinary influence on Avery, which, ha-fucking-ha, that is wrong.

Jonny comes back into the room and says, “Stay the fuck off my computer, Kaner.”

Pat ignores him. “Want to videochat with Avery?”

Jonny’s face lights up. “Yeah! I haven’t seen her since our Christmas chat.”

Avery’s face pops up on the screen, tearstained and miserable. “Da-ad. You have to come home,” she says.

Pat aches. He wants to be on the next plane back. He wants to cuddle her close and kiss her curls. “I’ve got another five days on the road. What’s wrong, baby girl?”

She throws herself on the ground in front of the computer screen. “Aunt Jess is  _killing_  me.” And Pat thinks Avery and her aunt deserve each other.

“Hey, Angel,” Jonny says. “It sounds like it’s pretty awful in Buffalo.”

Avery sits up. “Uncle Jonny! You and dad are playing together? I told Aunt Jess, I wanted a play date with you, too. But she says only boys allowed. I told her that’s stupid and not true. Girls can play hockey, right? I could, if I wanted to?”

“Do you want to?” Pat asks. He’s been waiting for this day. He’s literally been  _waiting_  for this day.

“No. I don’t want to play hockey with Uncle Jonny. I want to play puppies with Uncle Jonny.” She gets on her hands and knees and starts barking at them.

Pat gets an idea. “Baby girl. Did you bring your new puppy pajamas with you?”

Avery barks and nods and barks some more.

“Why don’t you go put them on so that Uncle Jonny can see them?”

Avery nods and gallops out of sight on all fours, grunting happily.

“She’s really into puppies. I think we’re finally gonna get one, after the season’s over. When I’ll have some time to train it and she’ll hopefully be big enough to help out.”

Jonny runs a hand through his hair, “My mom keeps telling me I should get a dog. But, I don’t know. Seems like a lot of work.”

“And your shoulder,” Pat says, realizing the second it’s out of his mouth that it’s probably the wrong thing to say.

But Jonny doesn’t really have a chance to respond before Avery’s wandering back into view wearing a pink nightgown with a giant cartoon puppy on the front.

“That’s beautiful, Avery. I like the Hawks ones, better, though,” Jonny says.

Avery frowns. “They’re too little, now.”

Pat says, “Do you want to read a story?”

“No,” she says. “I want Uncle Jonny to sing to me.”

Pat frowns. He’s not sure where she got that. Fucking school, probably. No one in his family really sings to her and, though he remembers well Jonny’s terrible karaoke, he’s pretty sure that’s not what Avery’s aiming for.

But Jonny smiles and rolls with it. He says, “Do you think you could climb into bed? I only sing lullabies if you’re in bed. Maybe your Aunt Jess can bring the computer.”

As Jess gets Avery all tucked in and sets up the computer, Jonny says to Pat, “My mom always sang to David and I, before we went to bed. I think I maybe remember the song. We’ll see.” Jonny hums a little bit to himself.

He sounds kind of stupid doing it. But Pat thinks that if someone followed him and Avery around with camera, like they do with him and the puck, they’d catch him doing hundreds of dumb things every day, just to make her smile.

This whole wanting Jonny in his life, wanting Jonny living with him and Avery, wanting Jonny to really be a part of his family, it’s so much worse than he’d realized.

The song is soft and in French. And he’s pretty sure Jonny’s singing it all wrong, but he looks happy, unselfconsciously so, and soon, Avery’s eyes are closed and her breathing is even.

Jess appears. “Thank you, Jonny,” she says. And then winks at them before killing the feed.

Jonny yawns and checks his watch. “You should probably get back to the hotel, huh?”

Jonny’s tired. Pat can see it in eyes. He’s trying to get Pat to go. And, okay, Pat’s not going to get laid tonight. He’s going to have to keep waiting.

~~~

**Post-game Review: Friday, June 23, 2023 6AM**

**Chicago, IL**

 

Jonny wakes up to sunlight streaming through his blinds. He forgot to shut them before climbing into bed last night. He’s got one leg draped over Kaner’s.

Kaner.

He turns onto his side, keeping his leg still as possible. Kaner’s mouth is open and he’s got a puddle of drool on his pillow. His breath is so rank Jonny can smell it from inches away. It’s the least romantic morning after Jonny’s ever had.

Jonny fingers Kaner’s curls. It’s not really a morning after, anyway, because Jonny nixed the sex.

Kaner shifts his shoulders a little and blinks his eyes open. He closes them again almost immediately and rubs at his beard. “Jonny,” he says.

Jonny waits, but Kaner doesn’t continue. “Yeah, Kaner?”

“Can I take a piss and then come back in here and fuck you?”

Jonny’s breath catches. “Okay.”

Kaner rubs his temples as he gets out of bed. “Fucking finally,” he says.

From the bathroom Kaner calls, “If I had known all it took to get in your pants was to win the Cup for you, I would have done it years ago.”

Jonny laughs. He thinks he remembers Kaner making the same joke before, both times they won the Cup together. He says, “You didn’t win it for me, Kaner.”

He hears the sound of water running and hopes Kaner’s brushing his teeth. “And that’s not why we’re going to fuck.”

Kaner returns, naked, his smile too chipper. Jonny thinks he might still be a little drunk. He stands in doorway, not quite in the bedroom or in the bathroom, and strokes himself.

God, even at thirty-four, he somehow still looks like a cocky-ass pre-teen with that fucking half smile. His pulls are slow and Jonny watches the head of his dick slide in and out of his fist. Jonny’s tugs off his own underwear and tosses them to the ground beside the bed. His eyes never leave Kaner’s cock.

“Like what you see?” Kaner asks, looking at Jonny through thick eyelashes. He licks his lips. And it’s stupid, and Jonny’s stupid for it, but he does. He really fucking does.

“Yeah?” Kaner asks, again, sliding a hand across his chest, plucking at his nipple. He's covered in blond curls, now a bit thicker than they’d been the last time he and Jonny had done this. “Show me, then. Touch yourself.”

Jonny grabs his dick and pumps it a few times, gesturing with his free hand for Kaner to come the fuck on and climb into bed with him.

Kaner’s smirk widens. “Slow down, man. What’s the rush? You’re not even fully up yet.” He keeps stroking his dick, same careful pace. After a moment, he looks down at himself, biting his lip.

And Kaner’s wrong. Jonny’s hard as fuck.

“Jonny,” Kaner says, low and husky. Jonny had forgotten his sex voice, but there it is. Fuck. “Jonny, I said, slow down. Match my pace.”

He’s bossy, bossier than Jonny remembers, and that sends a shiver of heat down Jonny’s spine. He eases up until he’s going stroke for stroke with Kaner. “Yeah,” Kaner says. “Like that.”

Jonny looks up and Kaner’s thumbing at his nipple again. He meets Jonny’s eyes and licks his lips. He’s not smiling anymore. Jonny groans.

“How long’s it been?” Kaner asks, finally moving toward the bed.

Jonny shakes his head. Kaner crawls onto the bed until he’s leaning over Jonny. He presses a hard kiss to Jonny’s lips. “You’ve gotta tell me, Jonny. Anything gotten up your ass lately?”

Jonny shakes his head. He used to finger himself, sometimes, but he’s hasn’t much these last few years, since his shoulder started bothering him all the fucking time.

Kaner nods and sucks at neck, right where his beard ends and his shoulder begins. Jonny’s arms fly up to Kaner’s back, feeling the muscles cord and bunch beneath his fingers.

Sitting, ass pressed up against Jonny’s dick, Kaner asks, “Do you have lube? Condoms?”

Jonny reaches toward the bedside table, but Kaner pins his arm. “I’ve got this,” he says.

“Top drawer,” Jonny tells him.

Kaner pulls out the tube of lube and smirks. “This is the nice shit, Jonny. Not that stinky, oily shit you used to have.”

Jonny blows out a breath. “I’m glad you approve of my lube.” He arches up, making sure Kaner feels his cock sliding, hard and leaking, between his cheeks.

Kaner’s eyes narrow. “You want it? The other way? You wanna fuck me, Jonny?”

Jonny moans because, fuck, yeah. But then he shakes his head. Meeting Kaner’s eyes, he grits out, “Later.”

Kaner laughs, a little crazily, and kisses Jonny. “Whatever you want.”

He touches a lubed up finger to Jonny’s hole, taking a teasing swipe at the sensitive skin around it. Jonny reaches out to grip his shoulders.

Kaner looks up at him, frowning, and raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna stick one in.”

“Fuck,” Jonny says, letting go of him and falling back on the bed.

Kaner goes slow with his fingers. Always so fucking slow. But that’s good because Jonny’s not used to this anymore. The first finger’s gentle, tentative even, until Kaner angles it to hit Jonnys prostate, making Jonny grab at the sheets and, then, with the second touch, at Kaner’s hair.

Fuck.

“Yeah?” Kaner says, sticking the second finger in, careful and deliberate. He thrusts in and in and then turns--

“Oh my god.” Jonny’s pulling Kaner’s curls, hard.

Kaner grabs Jonny’s cock and pulls and twists. And it’s not something Jonny usually does and he thinks it shouldn’t feel good, but Kaner’s somehow awesome at beating dick.

Jonny pulls Kaner down into a kiss, rough and bruising. Kaner moves away, licking his lips. “Jonny. Fuck I’ve gotta...”

“Yeah,” Jonny says.

He rolls his hips and Kaner’s dick, inexplicably already wrapped, rubs against his hole, between his cheeks.

Into Jonny’s neck, Kaner says, “Holy shit, Jonny, I could come just like this.”

He lifts himself up and lines his dick up with Jonny’s entrance. The movement of his hips is just as careful and leisurely as that of his fingers. And Jonny feels so full, so fucking full.

He revels in the feeling of Kaner in him, above him, around him. Their skin is sweaty, sticking and smacking as they move against each other.

And Jonny gets lost in it, in the feeling of Kaner’s soft, wet curls beneath his fingers, the sound of Kaner’s rough grunts as he pushes and pushes and pushes, the electric burn shivering through his nerves each time Kaner’s dick presses just right.

Kaner wedges a hand between them, gripping Jonny’s dick again and saying, “I’ll blow you later, I swear, I just want to feel--”

With a few strokes, Jonny’s coming between them, his whole body twitching with pleasure. Kaner’s orgasm follows quickly, his thrusts turning fast and erratic. And then he’s collapsing on top of Jonny and saying, “The best. Holy shit. That is the best feeling.” “

~~~

When Jonny wakes up for the second time that morning, it’s to the alarm on his phone and he stabs at the button a few times before it stops. He uncurls himself from around Kaner and tries to think about how much time he has to get ready.

Kaner groans. And then sits up, fast. “Shit,” he says, rubbing at his temples. “There’s the hangover. Fuck.”

His eyes meet Jonny’s and widen. “What time is it? Jonny? Fuck.” He looks at the window. “The team. The plane. Oh shit. Where’s my phone? Shit. Fucking. Shit.” He climbs out of bed and pulls on a pair of boxerbriefs.

Jonny looks at his own phone, which he’d put on silent before climbing into bed beside Kaner last night, like a normal person. Kaner’s in the living room, frantic, clanging and banging as he searches.

Jonny has twenty missed calls, mostly from numbers he doesn’t know, six from Erica and Donna, a few from Sharpy, and two from the front office. “Well, they know you’re with me,” he says.

“It’s dead, Jonny. My phone is dead.”

Jonny makes his way into the living room to see Kaner sitting on the couch, leaning over his phone, pressing any and all buttons wildly.

“Calm the fuck down.” He hands Kaner his own phone. “Everything’s going to be fine. Last night you won the fucking Stanley Cup, Kaner.  _You_  did it.  _Again.”_

Jonny sounds bitter. He feels bitter. He’s never going to get another chance at it. That was it. And Kaner won. Like fucking always.

Kaner grins at Jonny. Then frowns. Then grins. “Sorry, Jonny. I’m... fuck.”

Jonny hugs Kaner and his hard warmth is soothing. Jonny pulls back, feeling himself smile. Holy shit, he should not be  _happy_ for Kaner, not when _he_  let his teammates down. But he is happy and so he kisses Kaner. And then kisses him again.

“It’s fine,” he says, lips pressed against the coarse hair on Kaner’s chin. “It’s great.”

And it kind of is.

~~~

**Thursday, July 6, 2023 9AM**

**Buffalo, NY**

 

When Pat comes downstairs, the Disney Channel is blaring, but Avery’s nowhere in sight. He finds her on the floor of the kitchen, writing on lined paper with a sharpie. It’s definitely bleeding through onto the tile.

“Avery,” he says. He keeps his markers in a cup, on the top shelf of a cabinet by the garage door. It’s a place Avery definitely cannot reach. “Where did you get the marker?”

“Uncle Jonny left it on the counter by his wallet.” She jumps up and thrusts the paper at him, marker flying. “I made a list.”

He and Jonny need to have a conversation about Jonny leaving his things around. Everything has its place for a reason.

Pat looks down at Avery’s list.

  1. Eat serieal
  2. Play puppies at the park
  3. Put new puppie in it
  4. Play dress up with uncle Jonnie



“What’s this?” He asks.

“You asked last night if I wanted to do something with the Stanley Cup that you won. When you were at work, me and Uncle Jonny looked at pictures to help me decide. I wanna to do  _a lot_ of things. Uncle Jonny said I have to pick two. He said I should sleep on it.”

Pat blinks at her.

Her eyes widen. “No, dad. Not to sleep on the Cup. Cause that’s what I thought, too, and that would be hard and yucky. Uncle Jonny said ‘sleeping on it’ means go to sleep and decide in the morning. Uncle Jonny is very smart.”

Pat scratches his neck. “This is a good list. We’ll see what we can do.” He sticks it to the fridge with a picture magnet of Jess’ kids. He sees that there’s another new drawing. It’s labeled “hanging out” in Jonny’s most careful print and contains Avery (very large) and a black dog (also very large) and Jonny in his Hawks jersey (very small). Pat laughs.

He turns and Avery’s on the counter, reaching for the Cheerios. “Baby girl, we’re gonna go out for breakfast.”

“Da-ad. I’m hungry  _now,_ ” she whines, lower lip popping out. He really fucking hates that face. He has no idea where she learned it, probably Jess, but it irritates the hell out of him. Still, he’s not going to give in, not this time.

“Well, you better go wake Uncle Jonny up.”

She hops down from the counter, crosses her arms across her chest and says, “Da-ad.”

“Avery,” he replies, crossing his own arms.

She blows out a breath. “You were sleeping with him. Why didn’t  _you_ wake him up?” He and Jonny haven’t really talked to her, not about them. Pat’s not sure if they should or what they would say.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Jonny shouts down from the top of the stairs. He’s dressed, too, in nice slacks and one of Pat’s button down tee-shirts.

Avery says, “Hurry up! I’m  _starving_.”

Jonny puts out a hand, “Hi, Starving. I’m Jonny.”

Avery sticks her tongue out at him. So does Pat. It’s a stupid joke. But he’s glad Jonny’s here to make it.

~~~

Jonny’s watching Pat strip from the bed. The fucker’s already naked. His eyes are dark and follow Pat closely. Pat cannot get out of these jeans fast enough.

When he moves toward the bed, Jonny says, “Did you brush your teeth, Kaner?”

Pat growls, baring his teeth at Jonny, like Avery had done earlier in the evening upon being asked the same question. And then, like his dear daughter, he goes into the bathroom... to brush his teeth.

“I’m kidding, come on. I want to fuck you.”

Pat sticks his head out the door of the bathroom and, over the whirring of the toothbursh mechanism, says, “Language, Jonny.” Because Avery pops up to hear things at the most inconvenient times, she really does.

“Your daughter is fast asleep. Come. The fuck. On.”

Pat stands in the door of the bathroom for a moment. Jonny is lying on the bed, stroking his not quite hard yet cock. “You’re very virile,” Pat tells him, flipping off the overhead light, leaving Jonny illuminated in the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp.

Jonny blushes. His whole chest turns pink and it’s simultaneously hilarious and hot as shit.

“For an old man,” Pat finishes, sitting down on the bed. He takes a deep breath. It’s time to do this shit. “Hey, um. Before we- like, are you?”

He’s been meaning to  _talk_ to Jonny for a few days now. He’d literally chosen the exact words, said them in front of the mirror, even, and, then, psyched himself up that  _now,_ right before bed, with Avery asleep, would be the best time.

He does not know where those words went, but they are not coming to him.

Jonny frowns and looks meaningfully at the hand on his cock. He says, “I said I want to fuck you.”

Pat shakes his head. “Jonny, come on. You’ve been fucking living at my house with Avery and I for almost two weeks now. When are you getting shoulder surgery? What are you doing now, about your life and stuff? What are we doing? Are we, like, together together? ”

And those are the questions. All at once. Right there between them.

“You really know how to kill a boner, Kaner, oh my god,” Jonny says, as he moves to sit up beside Pat.

“This isn’t a joke, asshole,” Pat says, because it’s not.

Jonny breathes out and then looks down at his hands. “My shoulder surgery is in four days. In Chicago. My parents are flying in. I want to talk to them, about the future and stuff.”

“Shit, Jonny, that’s my day with the Cup,” Pat says. What the hell. The two of them had spent brunch planning, with Avery. Jonny can’t just--

“Kaner, I can’t hang out with you and the Cup. I just can’t do it.” Pat meets Jonny’s eyes and he gets it, kind of, maybe. Losing sucks. He wishes he’d never left Jonny, that they’d kept playing together.

“Yeah?” Pat asks. “Are you thinking, like, um, that you might be done? Or, I don’t know, what’s next? What are you thinking about--”

Jonny puts a hand to Pat’s cheek. “Pat, I’m not sure what’s next, like with hockey or, um, not with hockey. I've had some offers.”

Fuck, his words are soft and rough, torn from him.

But then he leans over and kisses Pat. It’s a hard kiss, firm and full of feeling. His hands slide into Pat’s hair, as he pulls him close, onto his lap.

They trade deep kisses like that for a few minutes, Jonny seeming unhurried, for fucking once in his life. Still, Kaner can feel Jonny’s dick pushing up, insistent, against his ass and he thinks it’s definitely his turn to take it tonight.

He presses down, sliding just a bit, and Jonny moans.

“Yeah? You want it, Jonny? Want me to ride you?” Jonny’s fingers catch in his curls and pull. It hurts so fucking good. He rubs back and forth on top of Jonny’s cock, and tries to ignore his own dick standing erect between them.

Pat begins to feel impatient, rolling off Jonny and scrambling for a condom. Jonny watches him, eyes fucking black, as he rips it open. Swallowing, he grabs Jonny’s cock, ready to slide on the oiled-up latex and get that beauty the fuck inside him.

The door to his room opens. Avery stands there, hovering. Even though she’s draped in shadow, looking over Jonny’s shoulder, Pat can see that she’s wearing a jersey, Jonny’s jersey, over her pajama bottoms.

Pat takes his hand off Jonny’s dick. Holy shit, sometimes being a parent is the worst. Jonny takes in a shaky breath. Thank fuck, his back’s to her. He’s silently laughing, the asshole.

“Da-ad, I couldn’t sleep,” Avery says. “I was worried.” She still doesn’t come into the room.

“Why, baby girl?” The almost whine in her voice picks at that awful place in Pat and he  _needs_ to be able to make it better for her.

“Uncle Jonny is still here?”

“I’m here, Angel,” Jonny says, shifting around in the blankets and slithering into his underwear.

“Are you leaving?” Avery chokes out, softly. “Please don’t leave, Uncle Jonny.”

“I will have to leave, sometimes,” Jonny says, slipping his legs over the side of the bed. He squeezes Pat’s arm and walks over to Avery.

As he squats, she flings herself at him. He says, “But I’ll always come back, okay?”

She nods into his shoulder.

Jonny chuckles, pulling away and taking her hand in his. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

And Pat is happy. So  _fucking_  happy.


End file.
